A Classic Love Story
by Sinematic
Summary: It's a classic fanfic love story when the prep and the punk fall in love. However in this story, opposites rule strong. At Awkanawaw High, Duncan's the uptight, scholarly prep, and Courtney is the new kid, a pink-haired punk. You already know the ending, but it's the story behind it that makes it a classic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Warning: 90% of the charater's personalities have been tampered with in this twisty story. Thanks for any favs, follows, and reviews, and especially for giving it a shot!**

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A Classic Love Story

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Chapter 1: The Classic Beginning

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Duncan sat quietly on the cream stone wall outside the doors of school, his back slouched from his overstuffed backpack. He'd stayed up all the previous night working on his college applications and resumes, the proof of this being the purple circles under his eyes and his choice of boiling black coffee, four sugars, that now stirred in his Starbucks cup.

He yawned and looked down at his chunky silver watch, a present from his parents for getting a 30 on his ACT. He was waiting for his friend, Gwen, as he'd promised to walk her into the building the first day. Herds of chattering students filed past him, some tossing amicable smiles in his direction, others simply spitting at his black wing-tipped loafers.

Duncan was not the most well-liked person at Awkanawaw High, the main reason being he was completely and utterly preppy and studious, right down to his layered Ralph Lauren collared shirts and his neatly pressed, spotless khakis straight from The Gap. Duncan noticed a strand had come loose from his carefully gelled back hair and flattened it against his head. _Crunch_. Duncan made a mental note to dial back the gel usage.

The clicking of quick heels on the sidewalk caused him to turn, and there was Gwen, typing something on her new iPhone with one hand, and holding an empty coffee cup with the other. Without looking, she tossed her garbage in the trash can below the steps, the one that depicted a picture of a turtle throwing out a wrapper and the caption 'No need to be brash, just throw out your trash'. Gwen reached the top and stopped in front of Duncan, still typing. Gwen was arguably the most beautiful senior girl at their school. She had perfect pale skin that was always powdered with something pink and black hair that never frizzed and always smelled like vanilla. Today she donned a crisp green button down, rolled twice at the cuff, and a sheeny black skirt.

Gwen packed away her phone and snatched Duncan's drink from his hand without a word, swigging down the choking black liquid contently. She handed it back and he noticed a peach lipgloss smudge at the opening. Duncan set the cup down.

"Hey, Duncan," she smiled sheepishly, "Sorry about that. I was up all night and I needed more than a vente to perk up."

He brightened as much as he could muster, "I was up pretty late too. College applications are the worst!"

Gwen sat down next to him and replied, "I started on my campaign, for student body president. Can you believe it?" Duncan noticed she was wearing the diamond stud earrings he had bought her the Christmas of sophomore year.

Their relationship was a complex one, but here's the abridged version: They were dating for a long time, until Gwen got drunk at a party and made out with the high school jock. Duncan found out and tried to win her back, but she claimed there was no passion or romance left to salvage.

Duncan never claimed to be a romantic; he was practical and future-oriented.

But as of late it seemed almost like she was trying to win him back. Then again, he was never good at reading cues.

Still, the sparkle caught his attention.

"Duncan, you aren't listening to me," Gwen insisted, crossing her arms.

He cracked his back, "Sorry Gwen, I'm kinda tired."

She batted her neat black picket fence eyelashes, and smiled, "Well you can make it up to me by taking me to dinner Friday."

Duncan blinked. That was definitely a cue, right?

She leaned into him, "What do you think, Mario's? I love their bread, don't you? We could split the shrimp linguini again. Remember that?"

Duncan just watched her mouth move as she rambled forward, not really waiting for his response.

"So Gwen," he interrupted, "What classes are you taking?"

"AP Calc AB, AP English, AP Biology, AP Physics, Cold War, AP Psychology, Business and Law, and Child Development. You?"

Duncan nodded, "Pretty much the same. AP Chemistry, Cold War, Ceramics, AP Calc BC, we have AP Psychology togeth-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Gwen giggled, "You're taking ceramics?"

"Yeah?"

"Why? That's a valuable slot of time you wasted!"

Duncan rolled his eyes, "Maybe I wanted to have a fun class!"

Gwen said huffily, "Fun? I'll be having tons of fun in Bio when I'm dissecting baby pigs!"

"And I'm not disagreeing with you there, it's just, I don't know... You're right. Maybe I'll switch out," Duncan considered, adjusting his collar. On a whimsy Duncan had hoped that when he'd signed up, he wouldn't have to take a full set of advanced classes for his final year. But as his father always said, 'It's 100 percent or nothing, son.'

Gwen cheerily bobbed her head, "Do it! The arts are pretty useless anyways. Like what's more important: staring at a self portrait of a skeezy old guy, or defending the rights of defenseless corporations from nagging complainers and lazy jerks that take our hard earned money? There's no comparison."

Duncan was already tired, but this conversation was draining him more than he could handle.

"Later, Gwen," Duncan hoisted himself up and walked to the doors.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Gwen smiled tightly, slightly annoyed that he would walk away from her, and picked up his still steaming coffee.

He silently grabbed the cup, aimed, and tossed it into the turtle trash can down the stairs without spilling a drop. Normally he was happy to take care of the environment, but at the moment he wasn't in the mood for Gwen's pestering. He pushed against the glass doors and entered the new school year.

...

The day went by horribly slowly, as many first days do. First there was math, always a snore, and then came English, _sleep sleep sleep_, and after that was Phy Ed, which by senior year was just a bunch of games, and then Psychology with Gwen.

She had saved him a seat in the front, where they both preferred sitting.

"Hey kids, how's it going?" the teacher grinned, passing out the first of many neon colored handouts, "My name is Mr. McLean, and this is AP Psych. Throughout the school year, we'll be studying the human mind, starting with the teenager's, and why you rascals are so obnoxious."

"What's wrong with this guy?" Gwen whispered to Duncan. He shrugged. As long as he taught the subject well, Duncan didn't care if Mr. McLean sprouted wings and sung show tunes.

"And after that," Mr. McLean continued, "We'll be studying media fixations and their effects, starting with musicals."

Perhaps Duncan spoke too soon.

And the hour dragged on as Mr. McLean described their entire year plan, both Gwen and Duncan taking detailed notes and storing those notes away in color coded binders. Class was almost over when Duncan raised his hand.

Mr. McLean pointed to him, "Yes, Jimmy Choo?"

Duncan smirked at the name but continued with his question, "Are we getting our textbooks any time soon?" The pile of books sat against the dusty wall, untouched.

Mr. McLean rolled his shoulders, "Yeah, no. I'm kind of doing a Dead Poets Society thing here, but administration won't let me rip apart the books. I figured we could turn them into an effigy for the last day of school bonfire, or something."

Duncan pictured the books, immolated, sitting in their own ashes surrounded by chanting buffoons with marshmallow skewered sticks, and shuddered. He wasn't an avid book lover, but the ritual seemed like a primitive activity to him. What was next, dodge-rock? Catch the dinosaur? No thanks.

"Now," Mr. McLean smiled devilishly, "Let's talk homework. This is an AP class, people! Anyways, I want you to-"

"Hey McLean, I like your bald spot!" came a female voice from the back of the room.

His eyes widened and he frantically searched his desk for a mirror, muttering, "Bald? I can't be going bald! That's just not possible. My hair is as thick as a rope! It's like there's two hairs in one pore, that's how thick-"

The bell rang.

Everyone rushed from the room in a cluster, squeezing through the doorway one-by-one like sand from an hourglass. Duncan half searched for the source of their homework liberation, but no one was standing out or accepting high fives. He looked at Gwen, who had been staring at him anyway.

"Well that was pretty rude. I mean, I'm psyched that we don't have an assignment, but Mr. McLean is freaking out," he said, looking back.

Gwen rolled her eyes, "Some people are just so immature. Now come on, let's go to lunch! You do have first, right?"

Duncan shook his head, "Sorry, second."

Gwen turned on her heel and wordlessly clicked away, as if he had some sort of control over his schedule. Duncan sighed and massaged the area between his eyes.

His next class, history, was just down the hall so he took his time. Duncan stooped over the bubbler to slake his coffee burnt throat, when he was roughly shoved out of the way onto the floor.

"What's your problem, Noah?" Duncan demanded, picking himself up and dusting off his pants.

"Fish! Needs water!" Noah cried between his heavy panting; he'd obviously been running. In his hands sat a large, flopping yellow fish that was now twitching under the steady stream of water.

"Right," Duncan arched his brow. Noah was always weird, but he might've stepped it up this year. Today he wore a knit ski cap over his shaggy brown hair, and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.

"So where'd you get the fish?"

"Ganked him from the Bio lab!" Noah spat, "They jail up these fish like they jail up our rights, man."

"You should probably go put that back," Duncan suggested tiredly.

"Forgot I was talking to a corporate gonad," Noah frowned, "Duncan man, you're gonna be a government scrub your whole life if you can't swim against the current, know what I mean?"

"Hey, you! Stop!" the Biology teacher came sprinting down the hall.

Noah turned to Duncan, "Gotta run!" He picked up his fish and took off towards the stairs screaming, "Vive la révolution de poisson!"

Duncan shook his head as the teacher ran past him, leaving a trail of fluttering posters in his wake. He tried not to reflect on Noah's harsh words; Noah was a loser.

...

The rest of the day went by even slower, but it was finally time for his last class: ceramics.

Duncan had already written out his transfer script but wasn't compelled to turn it. He didn't like the prospect of having yet another class with Gwen, and smacking around a piece of clay actually looked like fun. He sat down at a table and waited for class to start, notebook and pen ready in case he needed to take notes. Duncan liked to be prepared.

He looked around the room to see who else was in the class. Several freshmen and sophomores were in the class, and Duncan spotted Scott, a sophomore he liked. He was another scholarly type with strict organizational skills Duncan admired. In the back was Noah, and next to him he recognized Izzy, Lindsay, Heather, Beth, and Trent. Duncan failed to notice the last student sneak in the door.

"Hello class," the teacher singsonged, "I am Miss Blainley." She was wearing wooden jewelry and a t-shirt that read 'earth without art is just eh'. She turned on a projector and wheeled it to the middle of the room.

"Here's a little slide show of projects we've done over the years."

"Oh, this is original," someone complained. Duncan looked to shush them, but the presentation had started.

"Here is a vase one of my advanced students created. -_click_- Here is another vase one of my other advanced students created. -_click_- Here is the same vase, but it's in the process of being glazed."

"Like my eyes?" the same person droned, and a few others giggled. Duncan recognized the voice: it was the same voice who'd spoken up in Psychology.

"And here is a picture of a ceramic bowl from the eighteenth century. Notice all the fine details around the edge. It really is a masterpiece."

"It looks like a bong."

That was it. The voice was coming from behind him now. This obnoxious person was getting put in her place. Duncan turned around.

"Um, some of us are trying to learn here," Duncan said sourly.

The girl smirked at him, "Well a studious boner like yourself shouldn't have too much trouble blocking me out, though I don't know why you would."

He'd never seen her before, he would've remembered. She had long differently shaded brunette hair with bleached white tips and a small chunk of pink underneath. Her gaged ears held many more studs and bars, along with having a black nose ring. Her tawny brown eyes were ringed with smudgy black liner. She had on a shirt depicting a band he'd never heard of. Her smile was immaculate. She clicked her short red nails on the desk, waiting for a response.

Duncan's eyes furrowed, "Just be a little more considerate."

She laughed, "Sorry, princess!"

His eyes widened, "Princess? I'm a guy!"

"Tell that to your Britney Spears perfume."

"It's Michael Kors."

"Whatever, prep," she grinned, obviously amused.

"What about you? Little kids could just about learn their colors by studying your face," he retorted, not about to lose.

Her cocky smile widened, "So you're studying my face now? I'm pretty, I know."

"Don't kid yourself," he snarled.

"Hey calm down, alright? Take a joke, prep!" she said defensively.

"You two! Hush!" Miss Blainley called from the front of the room.

Duncan turned around, his face hot from embarrassment. He picked up the class handout and gave it a cursory glance. After a few minutes, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"My name's Courtney, by the way."

He harrumphed and said nothing. She tapped his shoulder again, "Don't be mad, prep!"

Duncan sighed, "Can you not call me that?"

"Give me a name to work with then!"

Groaning, he capitulated, "...Duncan."

"Duncan," she nodded, "I think we're going to be great friends!"

He snorted, "Yeah, I don't think so."

But Courtney just kept on grinning.

...

After school, Duncan returned to his post on the cream colored wall, again to wait for Gwen. His backpack was already heavy with books, so he set it down. He unzipped a pocket and retrieved a granola bar.

"There you are!" Gwen exclaimed, rushing towards him.

"Where I said I'd be?" Duncan asked through a mouthful of his snack.

"Don't be gross, Duncan," she reprimanded.

"Sorry, princess," he replied sarcastically. Extreme shock appeared on Gwen's face, zapping Duncan back to reality. "Oh, Gwen! I'm sorry. It's just been a really long day."

She smiled, "It's fine. My day sucked too. I had to sit with Bridgette at lunch and you know how much I hate her. And I started putting up my posters already!"

Gwen talked about her entire day, and Duncan only half listened. He was wondering what Gwen would look like with a nose ring.

"Hey!" Gwen's shouts brought him back to the present, "That's school property, freak!"

She was shouting at someone down the stairs. Duncan peered around her to see Courtney, marker in hand, making changes to the turtle trash can. She was smirking up at Gwen, "Sorry, I can see why you wouldn't want me drawing on your house!"

"Ugh! You weirdo! I'm getting the principal," Gwen warned.

Courtney was prepared to respond, but then she spotted Duncan.

"Hey Duncan!" Courtney yelled, waving in an over-the-top fashion. Then, flashing her best bratty grin, she picked up her slouchy bag and jogged off.

They walked down the steps and looked at the garbage can. Courtney had crossed out a few of the words and added some of her own. It now said: 'No need to be brash, just kiss Gwen's ass!'

"Duncan?" Gwen asked through gritted teeth, "Why does the freakish new girl know your name?"

Duncan cringed. This was going to be a long year.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: As some of you may have noticed, Chris is in no way opposite himself, despite being a teacher. There's actually a few characters I'd like to keep normal, such as Chef, just because. I wanna say that one guest was spot on with fandom Heather, and although I have most of the characters' alternate identities already, if anyone else has suggestions for characters I'd be happy to hear them! I'll be sure to credit you in the chapter if I end up using your idea instead.**

**A huge thanks to my reviewers: ferguson97, Tories Rilistkrytcat, Anon 1, Anon 2, Anon 3, play for keeps, Anon 4, Anon 5, and everyone else who favorited, followed, and read!**

**Please forgive the 'step-backwards' feel of this chapter, I'm still trying to set up where I think the characters are, personality wise. Things will get better in the next chapter, promise!**

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A Classic Love Story

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Chapter 2: The Classic Continuation

...

"Yo Noah!" Courtney waved to the boy stretched out in the grass, her numerous bracelets clacking together with the motion. "Great job with the cafeteria protest yesterday! That Chef dude was going crazy."

Noah sat up on one elbow and flashed her a lazy peace sign. "Fight the power, sister." With that said, he adjusted his woven headband and settled back, arms crossed behind his head, to admire the cloudless sky once again.

She shook her head smiling and sauntered off to her second day of school. Yeah, she was a transfer, and a senior transfer at that, which meant only a couple things to these kids who'd been there their whole high school lives: number one, she moved from somewhere far away; or number two, she got kicked out of her old school. Either way, she was exotic to everyone, and she would ride that wave until the honeymoon phase came crashing around her.

Putting in her headphones, Courtney cranked her music and pushed through the school doors, already plastered with homecoming signs and football game schedules. _Like she'd be caught dead at either of those._

As she made her way to her locker she spotted a group of senior girls giggling against a wall, one of whom she recognized as Gwen. She smiled inwardly remembering the insult she'd given that hairy toed prep the day before. It wasn't her fault really, revenge is revenge. Gwen told Courtney she liked her hair because 'it reminded her of a little kid cartoon character'. And when you sneakily insult Courtney's choice of appearance, you better be expecting some form of humiliation in your near future. _Hers_ just happened to be a clever use of vandalism in front of her prep of a boyfriend: the incredibly prudish and impossibly lame Duncan.

But she didn't have time to think about it because a droning bell tone sounded throughout the halls, signaling the start of the day. She was late. Courtney hastily examined her dark, messy makeup in her tiny locker mirror and slammed the door closed, but not before grabbing a mid-morning snack. She shuffled down the hall to her first class gnawing on a poptart, a satisfied smile on her pierced face.

...

Courtney took a seat in the back of her Algebra one class. She looked around, but her eyes settled on the fidgeting blonde boy next to her. He sat with his head down and eyes downcast, scrawling indecipherable messages into his desktop. He looked okay by her standards, so she tapped his shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin. "AUGH!"

Courtney recoiled. "Whoa, sorry dude."

His terrified face settled into a sad frown. "Be absolute for death; either death or life, shall thereby be the sweeter," he mumbled.

"Oh.. Shakespeare, right?" Courtney grinned, "Cool."

He perked up a bit. "You've read _Measure for Measure_?"

"Nah," Courtney picked her teeth with her nails, "I just guessed. By the way, I'm Courtney."

"Geoff," he introduced, avoiding eye contact. "You... You're new, right?"

She shrugged, "Yeah man, I guess."

"Advice for the newcomer: 'Expectation is the root of all heartache'. Have fun ignoring me," Geoff said sullenly.

Courtney looked shocked. "That's really deep.. And I'm not gonna ignore you!" she insisted.

"Everyone else does."

"Hey, well, everyone else is lame!"

He nodded and continued his heavy handed scribbling. She decided to leave him alone. Courtney sat back to enjoy ignoring the lesson, when she felt a hot, wet breath on her neck.

_Ew._

She spun around, ready to beat the tar out of someone, to come face-to-face with a skinny, bug eyed girl chewing on her own retainer. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a messy pony, and her pale skin was so blanched, she was like her own light source. Courtney couldn't help but notice her '_Sherlock_ Rox my Socks' t-shirt.

"Hi," she breathed. "I'm Heather."

"Sup?" Courtney greeted. At least this girl wasn't another Gwen.

"Um," Heather pulled on her fingers. "I like your shoes." Courtney looked down; she was wearing her dark red Doc Martens.

"Um, thanks," Courtney smiled.

"So," Heather dawdled, "Do you know anyone here yet?"

"I know you, don't I?" Courtney asked drolly.

Heather chuckled, "No, silly! I meant like, have you made any friends? Being new is probably tough."

Courtney sighed, "Starting over is better than going back to juvi."

Heather's eyes expanded in awe. "You went to juvi?"

"I'm on probation right now!" Courtney claimed, smirking.

"Woooww..." Heather gasped. "You're so cool! Like... Like Harold," she added dreamily.

"Who's Harold?" Courtney asked, rapidly clicking her pen on her desktop, earning a strangling look from Geoff.

Heather looked surprised, "He's only the hunkiest guy in school! He's the star quarterback! He's so hot."

Courtney rolled her eyes, "Jocks are lame, Heather. You seem like a smart chick! I'd say go for someone with a brain."

"Harold's smart!...ish!" Heather laughed nervously, but thought again. "Smart... You mean like Duncan?" she asked quizzically, tapping her chin.

"Duncan, huh. What can you tell me about that wet blanket?" Courtney asked, still smirking.

"Oh, there's so much to tell!" Heather gushed, "He's like running for student body president, he wants to be a lawyer, so hot, and he's totally single. He's kind of a buzz kill though, always studying. I'm always studying too, but, whatever." Heather blushed and brushed her bangs out of her face.

"Wait a minute, I thought he was dating that Gwen bit- chick," Courtney corrected herself.

Heather waved her hands dismissively, "No! But they used to- until Gwen cheated on Duncan with Harold last year. My dear, sweet Harold." Heather looked on sadly.

"You're pretty useful, Heather. I think I'll keep you around," Courtney smiled, almost menacingly.

"Thank you?" Heather wondered.

"So," Courtney said, crossing her feet on her desk, "What else can you tell me about these chumps?"

...

Eventually fourth hour rolled around, and Courtney took her seat in AP Psych at the back of the classroom. She saw Gwen and Duncan walk in, intent in conversation. _How quaint_. Duncan seemed to be arguing a point, making booming gestures with his long hands. Courtney would've bet his hands were baby smooth and callous free, and maybe even smelled like flowers.

Gwen gave him a look of amusement and exhaustion, and perched herself primly on his desktop to talk. He looked annoyed, and Courtney wondered why. Sure, if the little princess was sitting on her desk she'd be annoyed too, but Duncan hadn't seemed to mind Gwen the previous day. She strained in her seat and heard Gwen harping about a _'waste of a class period'._ What could they be talking about?

The door opened and the teacher waltzed in, scattering the students to their appropriate desks. Mr. McLean settled his papers on his desk and walked to the middle of the room.

"Okay kids," he started, rubbing his hands together, "Today we'll be pairing up for our semester project. I know, it's only day two. Well, no one ever got an A by procrastinating! Probably! So," Mr. McLean smiled, "let's get this started."

Gwen raised her hand, "Will we be picking our own partners?"

"No!" Mr. McLean cried. "Now listen! For your final project, you and your partner will be addressing one of the questions printed on this list I'll be handing out. The questions are easy. Like, does color impact mood? Is telepathy real? Etcetera. You'll be making a video representation of your findings and showing it in class."

Murmurs of excitement rose in the tiny, yellow-walled room. Courtney rolled her eyes. Who cared about a stupid assignment? Her eyes shifted over to Gwen and Duncan happily talking about the project. Typical preps.

"Now!" Mr. McLean pulled a list from a red folder, "For the pairings."

Courtney observed everyone shifting in their seats anxiously, eyeing up their crushes.

Mr. McLean read off a few names, earning cheers from some and stony glares from others. He cleared his throat and the teenagers settled back down. "As I was saying! Let's see... Tyler and Eva, Leshawna and Izzy, Owen and Trent,"

There were only six people left. A couple dark-haired girls, dressed in similar dramatic jewel-toned fashion, clutched onto each other in the corner. One bit the end of a paintbrush nervously, as one would do to a pencil. Gwen and Duncan were exchanging hopeful smiles.

"Gwen and Katie!" The girls in the corner began sobbing. Gwen pouted.

Mr. McLean paused to look around the room. "The final pairings are... Duncan and Sadie, Courtney and Lindsay. Introduce yourselves!"

...

"Can you please control yourself?" Duncan growled, futility wiping clay splatters from his yellow polo.

"Calm your tits, Dunkie!" Courtney said, roughly plopping her wet chunk of clay onto the table again.

Duncan tilted his head in confusion. "Dunkie?"

She turned to grin at him, "You like the name?" He noticed splashes of clay on her smiling cheeks, sprinkled over her freckles. It might've looked cute on a less obnoxious person.

Duncan's brow furrowed darkly, "No, I don't."

"Well I'm gonna call you that anyway," she shrugged, going back to pounding her clay on the table.

Duncan looked down at his own neat creation. Miss Blainley had shown them how to make pinch pots earlier in the period. The instructions were: roll your clay into a ball, stick your thumb into the center, and pinch around the hole you made until you have a bowl. Duncan had followed these instructions to the letter, and in front of him sat a plain, passable bowl. Courtney, on the other hand, had just been playing with her piece and making a mess, being the inept slacker she was.

"You're kind of doing it wrong," he pointed to her lump of clay.

"That's because I'm not doing it at all, prep!" Courtney laughed; she couldn't believe Duncan was that big a goody-goody overachiever that he felt the need to correct her lame attempts as well as govern his own.

Duncan frowned, "It's not hard. You're not even gonna try?"

"Nope!" she smiled evilly, dropping her squishy clay onto the table for the umpteenth time.

"Hmm," was the response. Courtney looked over to see Duncan sitting back, his face contorted in thought. She followed his eyes to his backpack, where a tiny blue paper was sticking out one of the pockets. She snatched it, breaking his eye contact.

"What's this?" she teased, holding it up.

"It's nothing," Duncan said quickly, staring at the paper in her clay covered fingers.

"You won't mind if I read it then!" she made a show of opening the folded parchment.

"Stop!" he protested, leaping from his chair. She backed up onto a table and stopped his advance by pushing one of her Doc Martens into his stomach. He made a guttural noise and glared.

"I'll give it back if you tell me what it is," she singsonged, holding it away from him.

He frowned, "Why do you care?"

"Sheesh Dunkie, I don't care! I'm just curious!"

They locked eyes and sat there awhile, the atmosphere tense. Courtney found their silence beyond uncomfortable. She regarded the dark stress lines embedded underneath his tired, faded teal eyes; in the two days she had known him, he always looked strong and confident, but those shadowy wrinkles made him look sad. She let him push her foot away, leaving a dusty footprint behind.

He glanced down. "It's a transfer slip for this class."

She handed him the paper, making sure not to touch his fingers. "You're leaving, prep?"

"I guess so."

Duncan looked unsure, making one of Courtney's dark eyebrows arch questioningly. She asked, "You _guess so_?"

He fidgeted under her powerful gaze. "Gwen, er, I mean, _I_ just thought this class slot could be better used for my career."

So that's what he and Gwen had been talking about.

Courtney picked at the dried clay on her hands. "Who's to say ceramics won't help a career as a lawyer? -or whatever stuffy job you wanted. I say, do what you want!"

That sent Duncan scowling. "Maybe 'just doing what you want' is good enough for you, but that's just not how I am. Unlike you, I actually have a future," Duncan said, his tone cold. Passing her, Duncan walked stiffly up to Miss Blainley. She smiled like she'd just seen the sun, and her glossy smile fell like an early sunset when he handed her the blue paper.

Courtney leaned on her still dirty palm, watching him slink into a desk next to Trent. His words tumbled around her head, recycling again and again. _Unlike you, I actually have a future._ Whatever. He was just an uptight, pain in the butt. Though, she couldn't pretend like his words didn't hurt.

Shaking off any lingering feelings, Courtney walked to the corner and sat next to Noah, who was constructing a detailed clay model of an angry skyscraper with teeth and tiny legs sticking out between them.

Noah gestured to his creation, "It symbolizes corporate America destroying mankind."

Courtney nodded like she understood, and turned to Geoff on the other side of the table, dismally rolling and squishing the same clay ball over and over. He was sitting right by the supplies cart.

"Hey Geoff, grab me a sgraffito tool?" she requested.

Geoff slowly looked up at her, sorrow reflecting on his every feature, "I cannot afford to tempt fate. Your blithe request only hastens the reaper's inevitable triumph."

Courtney sat motionless, pinned under Geoff's dark stare, unsure of what to say. Noah noticed and said to her, "Don't mind Geoff. He's straight speggets, but he's hardcore for the cause."

Courtney brightened, "The cause? You got any operations going on?"

Noah smiled, "Sorry, enigma, I can't trust you yet."

"Just let me know if you need help," she offered smoothly, showing a toothy, shark-like smile, "Because I know some cooperate scumbags that could use a lesson."

...


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow. A crazy big thank you to my reviewers this time around: Helmet 798, Torie Rilistkrytcat, Anon 1, Anon 2, Anon 3, Jacksinabox, MEGA DUNCNEY FAN, ferguson97, and anyone else that favorited, followed, or read. You guys are ah-may-zing. Thanks for giving me the will to keep writing this crazy fic. I finally have a plan!**

**So, I'm going to keep introducing characters. But, as you all know, the majority of the original characters are fairly happy/peppy/nice people. So we don't really want a bunch of depressing, angry, gothic jerks running around. We can have like, three angry goths, max. Not that I have anything against goths, I just want a variety! A few of the people you'd expect to be like 'sad Geoff', WILL have different personalities, but just opposite in their own, if not direct, way.**

...

A Classic Love Story

...

Chapter 3: Classically Starting Over

...

It was Friday when he snuck up behind her, a bouquet of wiry pink daisies hidden behind his back. When she turned, sweeping her ebony hair in that graceful way she always managed, the flowers were there, right in front of her perfectly upturned nose.

"Surprise," he smiled, hoping for speechless; but Gwen was certainly not lacking words.

"Did you get these from the grocery store? It... looks like you did. But I still like them! So... quaint!"

Duncan cringed. Tonight was his forced date with Gwen and he figured flowers were a nice gesture, seeing as she was probably expecting them. Truthfully though, he hated the notion of flowers. Expensive, dead plants that do nothing but dirty vases and take up space until they loose their dignity and wilt. For the same amount of money he could've bought a real, living plant, or better yet, an ink cartridge refill for his printer.

And yet, Gwen had buried her face into the soft, pink-lemonade colored petals like they were part of a mythical, life-giving foliage grown by the edge of the Fountain of Youth itself, and with each enthusiastic inhale she took gained three more healthy years to the end of her tidy life.

Despite her shrill, commanding attitude and her total lack of understanding, she was beautiful; her neat folders, long lists, and winning spirit made her that. His eyes trailed from her happy, dark eyes to her tight sweater, a reminder of her physical perfection. It seemed she wanted him back, and what Gwen wanted, Gwen got, no matter what. So he'd buy her stupid dead plants, not because he wanted to, but because he hardly had a choice. That was how relationships worked.

Right?

...

"Katie, I'm sorry! But she thinks I have potential and training with her could change the course of my entire life!" Sadie shrieked through ruby red lips, throwing her head back with the posterior of her hand resting on her sweaty forehead.

Katie dug her paint-flecked knuckles into her hips, whining, "Sadie, you can't just leave me by myself. Mr. McLean is a psychopath!"

Sadie sighed, "I know. Total psycho. But acting is my passion, not his gross class!"

Katie's nose crinkled into her brow, and she angrily pushed her friend's shoulder. "You can't just ditch me, Sadie!"

Sadie's eyes narrowed and she pushed her back. "I'm not ditching you, Katie, I'm pursuing my dream! Do you... Do you not want me to pursue my dream, Katie?"

"Hey, whoa," Duncan, a passerby, interjected, separating the shoving twins, "What's the problem?"

Katie's green eye shadow began to dribble down her pink plastered cheeks in glassy teardrops. She sniffed, "Sadie is transferring out of Psychology!"

Sadie piped up, "My drama teacher is gonna coach me privately."

Duncan smiled, "That's cool!"

"Not for me," Katie scowled. Sadie patted her back.

"We still have our other seven classes together! Plus lunch and carpooling!" she grinned, thick arms akimbo. Duncan's eyes widened at her statement, the sheer amount of time they spent together astounding him.

"Aww," Katie wiped her tears, smearing paint from her fingers on her cheeks, "You're right! But my partner, Gwen? She's awful." She and Sadie then looked to Duncan for commentary.

Duncan cleared his throat, "Gwen, yeah, you just need to get to know her better."

Sadie and Katie exchanged sly looks. "We know why you feel that way, Duncan!"

Duncan looked around uncomfortably. "Uh. Later." He turned to run away from the artsy duo, smacking straight into another person and sending their few books flapping to the floor, like injured birds.

He crouched down and started grabbing papers. "Crap. Sorry-" Duncan's apology cut off when he noticed the victim of his clumsiness kneeling next to him.

"Walk much, Dunkie?" Courtney scowled. Today her pink, straightener-fried hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, showing off her rows of sparkling ear piercings; one on top was shaped like a star. He could see through her windowing gages to the other side of the hall.

"Sorry," he replied quietly. Duncan remembered what he'd last said to her, and felt his stomach curl into nauseous knots. He'd told her that she had no future! And while that was albeit true, it was a horrible thing to say to a virtual stranger. He knew he could be a jerk, but he didn't pride himself on it.

Courtney just nodded curtly and continued grabbing her stray papers.

"Sorry..." Duncan picked up a lined note sheet, his voice meek, "...about the other day too. I shouldn't have-"

"So how's chemistry?" Courtney blurted, her goofy yet standoffish smile returning to her pointed, freckled face. Her smile really was immaculate. "Better than ceramics?"

Duncan rocked back on his heels, passing her the stack of her writing he'd collected. One had a dirty shoe print on it. He blew out a long breath then said, "Well... It'll help go towards my goal of the title of 'doctor'."

Courtney gave him a confused look. "I thought you were Mister power lawyer!"

Duncan smiled slightly, "Nah, that's Gwen. I'm undecided. It's between being a lawyer for the little guy and being a doc, but hey, as long as I'm helping, I guess." Courtney's permanently snide face shifted to something of admiration, if only for a second.

They were still crouching in the middle of the hall, an awkward realization for them both. Avoiding further hallway traffic, they navigated over to the wall together, gaining numerous looks from their whispering peers.

"Speaking of _Gwenie_, I heard you're going on a date tonight?" Courtney smirked, rearranging the papers in her arms.

Duncan froze. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that." _How did _she_ know? She doesn't know anyone!_

"I saw the flowers," she offered simply, answering his mind. "Personally, I don't get it. Flowers don't hurt anyone! Yet idiots like you go pluck them from their homes, and you give them to people that don't love you back."

Duncan wanted to point out that he didn't pluck anything and that the grocery store probably wasn't his particular flowers' home, but he kept his mouth closed. He couldn't believe her opinion. Girls are supposed to love flowers!

Courtney picked at the dirt underneath her nails, avoiding his eyes. "I'd say have fun, but she seems like a total buzz kill."

Duncan frowned and snapped, "That's perfect then because I'm a buzz kill too, right?"

Courtney looked up at him, her eyes shining playfully. "Yup! You totally are." Her mouth wriggled into a smile, trying to contain her giggles.

He scowled at her and strode away, but somehow her response didn't have the same anger-inducing effects as their previous conversations had. Sure, he was still infuriated, but this felt... different.

As he made his way to his next class, he noticed Bridgette across the way, leaning on some lockers. Her murky green eyes were wide and fixed on him with the most hatefully intense expression. He felt a shiver run up his spine as her black lips mouthed the only chilling sentence she'd spoken to him since freshman year: _'DIE.'_

Bridgette was not his biggest fan, for reasons completely unknown to him. She waved goodbye with her black talon fingers, but kept her dark ringed eyes transfixed on his back until he rounded the corner.

He'd have to find a new route to Calculus.

...

"Duncan, this shrimp fettuccini is amazing. You have to try it!"

Duncan gagged as Gwen pushed an unbidden forkful of her meal into his mouth. She'd apparently forgotten his hatred of seafood.

After a long swig of water, Duncan looked down at the red checked tablecloth and his mostly eaten plate of spaghetti with meatballs- a Mario's classic. He always ordered it, but he'd never realized how utterly boring it was. He imagined Courtney would've ordered something like the 'eggplant and mint ravioli', and probably a glass of red wine just to see if she could get away with it. He looked at his glass of water with disgust.

"So..." Gwen drew out, twirling her straw in her glass of iced tea, her crackling voice mixing with the humming of the soft, festive Italian music coming from the speakers, "How about you pay, and then we get out of here?"

A waiter with an obligatory curly waiter's mustache appeared beside their table to collect their plates, promising to bring the check on his return trip. Gwen dabbed daintily at her chin with a spotless white cloth napkin. Duncan looked around the room; decorated with winding, iron-wrought accents and dimmed light fixtures that looked like burning candles, it was an atmosphere designed to pump frothy, romantic emotions into any aware person's brain.

Unfortunately for Duncan, he wasn't aware in the slightest of the subliminal messaging. All he could think of were things like, _'Why is it so dark in here?' 'This is stupid expensive for such small portions.'_ and _'Why do I need two spoons?'._

The ambiance worked on Gwen, however, and she wasted no time once they were back at his car. In the dark of the early fall night, her small, warm tongue shot into his mouth as her soft hands laced into his hair, tugging carefully.

And he kissed her back eagerly, but the main thing he felt was confusion. He didn't understand why Gwen wanted him back, especially after hooking up with Harold. He couldn't fathom it! It's not like he was any more passionate or romantic than before; he hadn't changed much at all since their breakup.

Maybe it was his new hairstyle; it was shorter?

Whatever the reason, Gwen and he sat intertwined in the backseat, happily exchanging saliva and warm looks. Perhaps his old romance was rekindled, an ancient flame reignited. He was in no position to question. Gwen got what she wanted.

Still, he couldn't shake his odd feelings of water and wine and iced tea, of flowers that had been plucked for unloving people.

He wondered if Gwen was one of those people.

...

While he was driving her home, Gwen got a text.

"Oh, it's from Lindsay," Gwen mentioned nonchalantly. A mechanical beep pierced from her phone as she went to read it. Scanning the text, Gwen's expression fell into shock and disbelief. She covered her gaping mouth with the hand that wasn't holding her phone.

Duncan noticed, flashing her a quizzical look. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Gwen was almost shaking as she breathed, "Oh my god. Duncan. You'll _never_ believe this."

...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A very special thank you to my reviewers this time around: Supercilium, Torie Rilistkrytcat, MEGA DUNCNEY FAN, Coderrafan4, Finger Curtain Astron, 18hneilson, She Invictus, RyanReynoldsIsMine, play for keeps, play for keeps!, Tiggystretch, and anyone else that favorited, followed, or read. You guys are awesome! The reviews are absolutely lovely, by the way.**

**I'd like to thank Coderrafan4 for giving me TWO ideas for characters I hadn't really thought out. Her credit goes to a Sierra obsessed Cody, and OCD Ezekiel. /round of applause/ Suggestions for unseen characters are still welcome!**

**Also, a quick note about Sierra: A couple of you inadvertently suggested a few ideas, but I made her the way she is because I personally see 'real Sierra' as an energetic, obnoxious, annoying, loud, blog-obsessed person, and I tried to create a person opposite of these traits.**

**Also I hope you like Bridgette, because I really do! **

**Thanks for reading.**

...

A Classic Love Story

...

Chapter 4: The Classic Collision

...

The doors to Awkanawaw High weren't anything special. Flanked with turtle trashcans, the five rectangular doors sat incongruously at the top of the neat concrete stairs. The blue metal was framed with creeping rust patches, and the glass panels were hardly transparent due to paper flyers and grimy fingerprints, stuck on by careless people. A gum wad had been smeared onto the bottom of the second door, and the silver handles were unchangingly sticky. Though these disregarded doors were no majestic feature for the school, two very important events took place between their arches on that cloudy Monday morning.

The first, and arguably less impressive event was spotted by Bridgette, Sierra, and Ezekiel.

Bridgette was trying to copy Ezekiel's neat math homework against the textured brick wall by the Spanish room, frustrated her black pen wouldn't write smoothly. Normally, this would've upset Zeke to extreme measures, but he was preoccupied with cleaning up Sierra's mess. Sierra had brought in an armful of leaves and flowers to weave into a crown. She dropped the foliage on the tiled floor and sat on her muddy sandaled feet. Braiding and twisting and humming to herself, she calmly accepted each flower she picked up into her creation. Ezekiel was busy counting and straightening the untouched plants, nervous about finding an odd number of feathery fern stalks.

"Eh, Sierra? Did you do your report?" Ezekiel asked. His voice sounded a little choked, like his collar was two buttons too tight. He swept the dirt around Sierra into a small mound with his portable broom and carefully pushed it into a tiny plastic dustpan, intent on not leaving a grain of dirt behind.

"Listen, Zeke. I'm feeling some negativity coming from you, and it's really messing up my zen," Sierra pointed out, picking up a leaf from one of his straight piles. Zeke began shrieking about uneven numbers, so she turned away and talked over him, "But to answer your question, no. I believe computers are evil, as they lead to the impure ways of gossip and porn. Duh!" While she was talking, Sierra had shifted her legs out from underneath her and had kicked off her sandals, revealing two muddy, grime covered feet. She wiggled her soiled toes freely.

Zeke stopped rearranging her plants to react. "I can't believe I ever wanted to date you, eh. Bare feet? Mud? No report? I dodged a bullet."

Sierra merely shrugged, resulting in a strap of her recycled cotton fiber tank top to slide down her bronze shoulder, to which she was completely unaware. "I'm just not interested in dating anyone. You can ask Cody, if you don't believe me. I must've told him that about a thousand times."

They both looked over to the corner of the wall. Cody was peeking around it, muttering hushed, vague words into a shiny silver voice recorder.

Sierra grinned and pointed, "Oh look! He's wearing the shirt with my face on it again!"

Cody's pink baby-tee featured a screen print of Sierra with her eyes closed; a picture they deduced had been taken while she was asleep. Ezekiel's voice dropped to a whisper, "He wore that last Friday AND Thursday. What if... What if he's not washing it, eh?" He had a thought that made him cringe, "What if it's the same gitch too?"

Sierra took a deep breath, "Zeke? Your negativity is so not super cute."

"My negativity? What aboo't Black-Cloud-Bridgette over ther- HEY! You're copying my homework!"

Bridgette responded with nothing more than a guttural noise of derision, and continued working.

Ezekiel stood up, knotting his fingers together worriedly. "Comon' Bridgette! Give it back, eh? You're.. You're winkling it!"

Bridgette didn't look up.

He took a step forward, finally gaining her attention. Bridgette snapped the papers up between her long, jagged black nails, growling. She held an imposing image despite her height and weight; her tiny body was donned in black, webby fabric, and her eyes were constantly ringed with angry black makeup, like she scribbled it on and never washed it off. Her blonde hair was stringy and unkempt, and her black lips framed her pointy, slightly yellowed teeth.

"Just try," she challenged.

"Let's all _try_ some deep breathing," Sierra suggested shakily, adjusting the flowery crown on her head.

Ezekiel's eyes never left his paper clutched in Bridgette's clawish hand and he mentally weighed his options. Deciding that preserving the pristine condition of his homework was worth facing 'Cold-As-A-Fridge-Bridge', Ezekiel lurched forward.

Then she was running, her heavy black boots clomping down the hallway and echoing off the walls. Sure, she had the ability to hurt him, to stop him with one swift punch to his protruding nose, but that wasn't Bridgette's style. So, she ran. And he chased.

As Bridgette ran, her eye caught something and she skidded to a curious stop. Zeke panted up behind her and snatched his papers from her vice-like grip, wheezing triumphantly. Sierra jogged in tow with a worried look on her usually calm face, petals from her headwear fluttering to the ground.

Bridgette faced the doors, a dark, amused smirk occupying her normal scowl. Zeke and Sierra turned to see her source of amusement, and they were not disappointed.

"That's something I never thought I'd see again, eh?"

Sierra smiled in agreement, but Bridgette only rolled her eyes and shuffled away, her arms wrapped tightly around her sides.

A set of pale, manicured, jewel covered fingers and a set of slightly tanner ones, both soft and callous-free, were tightly laced together. The heels of the hands rested against each other, and the forearms brushed together with the carefree happiness of having a partner.

Gwen and Duncan, hand in hand, walked though the school doors.

Zeke, being the OCD person he was, had more pressing matters to attend to, such as working out the crease Bridgette had caused in his math sheet. The love lives of others didn't concern him. Sierra, being the calm, zen person she was, was happy for the pair, but had no interest in gossip or spreading it around. She simply shrugged and floated off to her own world. And Bridgette of course, didn't care. So the relationship of Duncan and Gwen remained a secret.

"Oh my cheese an' crackers! Gwuncan lives!" Heather, who was suddenly there, declared, snapping several pictures with her phone, "I must tell everyone!"

...

The second event happened only minutes after the first.

Gwen was eyeing Heather with irritation, but did nothing about the picture-taking geek. She was content to be at Duncan's side. A few girls passed and gave her odd looks, their eyebrows cocked and lips pursed. Gwen smiled to herself; of course they would be jealous, she was holding hands with Duncan.

Now, Duncan had a reputation at Awkanawaw High of being highly preppy and annoyingly studious, but he was also known for his looks; slender with ropey muscles, sheeny black hair and bright, teal eyes, Duncan was a sight. Though the way he carried himself suggested that he had no idea, and thought people were just interested in him for his volunteering and studious activities.

Gwen, however, was not oblivious to how attractive he'd gotten. Still smiling smugly, Gwen checked her phone.

"She should be here in a few minutes. Help me hang up the banner?" she asked sweetly.

"Sure thing, _honey_," he obliged, cringing at the pet name she was making him use. He uncoiled the colorful paper he'd held with his free hand, letting it roll out on the floor. A few stray people stopped to help.

After a minimal amount of decorating, the group heard loud whooping coming from outside. The noise seemed to increase, and everyone took a few steps back. Through the glass they could see a figure bounding up the steps, shaking people by the shoulders and dancing, but the person didn't stop at the top; they charged forward.

A grey sneaker, size seven, came crashing through the center door, and a tall blonde stepped through. Her hair was pulled back into a frizzy, swirly bun, as it always was, and her thick, taped glasses magnified the popsicle-blue color of her eyes. She raised her arms above her head, a difficult feat when wearing a blazer, and roared excitedly,

"I AM GOING TO COLLEGE!"

Gwen screamed and ran towards her friend, hugging and jumping with her excitedly.

"Lindsay! I can't _believe_ you got accepted to Harvard for their fall semester!" Gwen screeched happily.

"I know!" Lindsay screamed back, giggling.

Duncan walked up behind his girlfriend, putting his hands on her hips, and added, "Congratulations, Lindsay."

Lindsay eyed his hand position. "Congratulations yourself!"

Duncan blushed and went to remove them, but Gwen grabbed his hands and held on tightly.

"Yes, we're going out now," she said officially, "Over the weekend we worked out some details and, well, we're really happy!"

Lindsay clapped softly in celebration.

"So..." Duncan cleared his throat, "When do you leave, valedictorian?"

Their smart friend kept smiling as she said, "I depart Wednesday!"

"That's really soon," Gwen said, a little shocked.

Lindsay shrugged. "I'm excited!"

"Of course you are!" Gwen grinned and nudged her shoulder, "You get to go shopping for cute dorm things, and think about all the college hotties!"

"Pttf," Lindsay laughed, "Who cares about shopping and boys? I'm going to be a theoretical physicist!"

Gwen rolled her eyes. _Same old Lindsay_. Duncan's hand curled into hers, and she continued chatting with Lindsay about class courses and tuition.

Around the same time, a certain jock was walking through the halls. He swiped a can from a freshman, guzzled the sweet grape soda, and belched afterwards contently. Smiling dimly, he pointed and half-waved to a few people he deemed cool enough for his recognition.

But as quickly as it had come, his friendly outlook dissipated when the jock caught the sight of a happy new couple by the doors, their fingers interlaced damningly. The can crunched between his meaty fingers, and was hurled to his feet.

Harold was not happy.

...

"Okay class, be quiet and for the love of money, sit down," Mr. McLean ordered.

"Money?" Gwen asked, her face pinched with slight annoyance.

"You worship your thing, I'll worship mine," the teacher muttered, thinking she couldn't hear him. "Anyways, it has come to my attention that one of our students has been accepted to Harvard!"

A polite round of applause rippled around the room for Lindsay; Gwen cheered extra loudly.

Mr. McLean spoke over the clapping, "Before we start today's lesson, I'd like to speak a little more about your semester projects! Seeing as it will be a video presentation, you will be evaluated on the visual and audio quality as well as the psychological content."

Several people groaned, but Mr. McLean silenced the room with his evil stare. A hand shot up in the back of the room, gaining his attention. "What?"

Courtney popped her pink gum bubble and dropped her hand limply to her side. "Seeing as Braniac over there is leaving for college and she's my partner, what am I supposed to do about the project?" She asked this dryly, barely interested in what she was saying.

Mr. McLean checked one of his notebooks. "Well, Courtney, I guess you're on your own- Wait," Mr. McLean closer stared at the paper, squinting. He looked around the room, "Where's Sadie?"

"She transferred out of this class last week for acting class, duh!" Katie called out, rolling her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Who was Sadie's partner?" Mr. McLean asked.

Duncan raised his hand casually.

Mr. McLean grinned, clasping his hands together behind his back. "So I guess that means we have two partner-less people. Courtney? Duncan? You're partners! _Mazel tov!"_

Before either one of them could react, Gwen was out of her seat. "What?! This is unacceptable! Why can't I be Duncan's partner?"

"Because Gwen, you're partners with Katie!" Mr. McLean stated.

"Why can't Katie and delinquent girl be partners?" Gwen demanded, stamping her foot.

"Sorry, Gwen! My decision stands," Mr. McLean said with authority. After a shrill, close-mouthed scream, Gwen sat back down, folding her arms. Frowning, Mr. McLean continued, "Your presentation topic is due Friday, so get planning!"

Duncan rubbed Gwen's shoulder calmingly, but he dared to look back at Courtney. She stared back, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. She raised her eyebrows to say, _looks like we're partners_. He almost

smiled back at her, when he heard a low exhale from Gwen. She was watching him with a venomous glare- a look she reserved for her most hated foes.

Duncan turned to her. "Look, um, honey-"

"_No!_ You _look!"_ she hissed. She yanked his ear close to her mouth and said quietly, "Look, I don't like her, and I'm your girlfriend. I once heard a phrase that went: the enemy of a friend is also an enemy. You get what I'm saying?"

For once, he did, and he didn't like it.

...

"You guys won't believe what happened today," Courtney said briskly, plopping down in one of the empty plastic chairs at Noah's table. She didn't usually eat lunch in the noisy cafeteria, preferring to go to the computer lab and listen to music, but today Courtney felt the need to vent.

"What's the skiz?" Noah asked, looking up from his scattered papers.

Courtney propped her feet up on the table and began unwrapping a sandwich. "Well, in Psychology today-"

"Psychology's just a scam, man! The government just created-"

"Can it wait, Noah?" Courtney glared. He muttered something inaudible, so she went on with her story. "Anyways, _McLame_ stuck Duncan and I together for this big project, and then Gwen went absolutely psychopathic! She was freaking out because 'I'm her enemy' so apparently that makes me his enemy? How unfair is that?"

"You seem pretty cut up about it," Tyler commented, tossing aside another crumpled tissue. "Just like me! I'm cut up over Lin-in-d-saAYYYYYYYYYY!" Simply saying her name sent him into a bawling mess. Geoff patted his back.

"Indeed, it is veritably the nature of life for beings to drift apart," Geoff said quietly.

Tyler looked horrified. "My Lindsay and I are drifting apart?!"

"Not yet! Your genius girlfriend could still ditch that elitist commie farm and go to your fascist ballet recitals, man," Noah pointed out.

Tyler cleared his throat dignifiedly, "Having grace is manly. I won't be ashamed of ballet."

"Whoa, whoa!" Courtney gestured for them to back up. "I am not 'cut up' like you are over Lindsay! You two are dating! I barely know Duncan."

Before anyone else could speak, a steaming plate of saucy spaghetti rained over Courtney's head and plopped into her lap with a squishy slap. She sat there in shock, hot, red sauce dripping into her eyes and down her cheeks, when an all too familiar voice crooned out behind her.

"Clumsy me! I must have slipped!"

Gwen snickered into her palm before clicking back to her table on her Armani heels.

Eyes wide and still covered in pasta, Courtney stared at her equally stunned companions and said in an oddly calm voice, "I am going to go kick her preppy ass into next year." Immediately after saying it, she violently shoved away from the table and whipped her head in Gwen's direction, her hair whipping wet sauce into the air. Noah and Tyler grabbed her wrists and chided her to sit back down.

Noah started pulling noodles from her ruined hair. "Speaking of the flawsen Wicked Witch of Big Corporation, I've been lunchin' a new mad plan. I can smell conspiracies _ages_ away, man."

Courtney allowed Tyler to use his tissues to help mop up some of the sauce from her face, and bid Noah to go on, still too angry to speak.

"Look, man," Noah glanced around, his plaid ski cap flopping just slightly, "I can't spill tankers, but my plan is-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FREAK!"

Gwen's shrieking attracted everyone's attention, especially the teachers'. In front of Gwen stood Bridgette, a look so cold and furious on her face she could've extinguished the sun. Gwen looked genuinely frightened, and when the teachers finally arrived, Gwen smiled and told them it was her fault- a big misunderstanding. Bridgette nodded approvingly, and wordlessly returned to her table, leaving Gwen standing out in the open. Gwen, after realizing every prying pair of eyes was on her, slunk off to her table, thoroughly embarrassed.

Courtney's livid seething fizzled into a curious awe. "What just happened? Who is that?" she asked, impressed.

"That's Bridgette," Tyler sniffed. "She's scary beyond belief."

Noah picked up a fork and twirled it in his fingers. "You'd dig her though, man. No one hates the preps quite like that salty chick."

Courtney wiped a blob of red sauce from the tip of her nose, and continued to stare at Bridgette. She'd have to get to know that ghoulish girl- Gwen repellant was in short supply.

...

The final bell rung, and Courtney trudged back to her locker to retrieve her things. When she rounded the corner, someone she hadn't expected was standing around her door, next to an actiony football poster, seemingly waiting for someone.

As she approached, the person looked up and locked their eyes on her. Great.

"Hey Dunkie!" she greeted cheerily; bidding him to move so she could get to the lock.

He looked concerned when she got up close. "What happened to you?"

She looked down at her stained clothes. Courtney spun her lock a few times and joked, "What? You don't like my new look?"

"Of course I do, _psychology partner_," he replied tentatively, obviously hinting at something. Oh boy, he was trying to be sneaky.

She groaned, "You aren't going to get all anal about this project, are you?"

Duncan cracked his knuckles casually, shaking his head to dismiss such a notion. "No, no, no..." he trailed off a little, "I was just hoping you would let me pick out the topic? And possibly do all the work?"

"No way," Courtney smiled as she fished around her locker. "I'm just as good as you at this subject, probably better. I'm helping!"

"I was afraid you'd say that," he muttered. Not missing a beat, Duncan launched into Plan B. "Well, when do you want to work on it? Today?"

Courtney thought this over. After a few seconds of feigning intensive thought, she smiled at him. "Tomorrow, after school, your place. We can watch the discovery channel and maybe your mom can cut us up some apple slices with peanut butter!"

Duncan ignored her sarcastic tone. "Courtney, I don't know if that's such a good idea. Gwen's kind of..."

"A wicked witch?" she filled in for him, grinning. She stuffed a large book into her backpack.

"I was going to say, uncomfortable with you. I don't know how well you being in my house would go over," he said reluctantly, scratching the back of his neck.

"So don't tell your girlfriend!" Courtney said through sips of an open soda she'd gotten from the bottom of her shelf, trying to ignore her unwillingness to say 'girlfriend', "Isn't she all into grades too? It's for school. Pure and simple!"

Duncan looked a little relieved. "So you're coming over, to my house, tomorrow after school?"

"It's a date," Courtney winked, making a tiny blush appear on his face. He would've stammered out a response, but she slammed her locker closed and quickly walked away, leaving Duncan in her self-proclaimed posh wake. Even covered in his Snow White Girlfriend's weaponized spaghetti, Courtney felt like a sauntering queen.

...

"Yeah, she's _actually_ going away to college," Gwen chattered, holding a vial of pink nail polish in one hand, and her phone to her ear with the other.

"Yeah, I know I'm acting weirdly happy- I am happy! Lindsay's gone, so that means I don't have to worry about her in the student body election," she said matter-of-fact-ly. She attempted to balance the nail polish bottle on her knee while painting one of her toes, but it proved more difficult that she'd thought. The bottle dropped to the floor and began leaking out onto the carpet.

"Oh no! I have to call you back!" Gwen cried, punching the touch screen and jumping off her bed.

But Gwen didn't even care that she had spilled on the rug, in fact, she was almost glad that she did. The way she saw it, if minor problems kept happening to her, like the Bridgette incident and Courtney's annoying presence, maybe her master plan wouldn't veer off course. Gwen was especially keen on this because so far, her master plan had been going positively _perfectly._

...


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: A freaking huge thanks for my reviewers this time around: StylishFashionista, Torie Tilistkrytcat, Tiggystretch, MEGA DUNCNEY FAN, Supercilium, play for keeps, EmeraldQueen14, and everyone else who favorited, followed, and read. **

**You are smart, strong, beautiful people.**

...

A Classic Love Story

...

Chapter 5: Classic Attraction

...

Duncan's house was not what Courtney had expected.

Going off the intense quantity of his endless J-Crew cargo shorts, Courtney expected to see a respectable white-trimmed two story in a nice neighborhood with a picket fence and maybe a pool. A house fit to breed the type of person Duncan seemed to be: a confident, snobby, preppy, studious, future-lawyer and residential heartbreaker.

What she hadn't expected was to find herself driving South, following Duncan's coughing blue beater, to a house squished between two other squished houses. It had an ancient, screened-in front porch, and the shingles on the sun-bleached roof were in patches. It could've used a coat of paint.

Duncan smiled knowingly at her reaction, like he was celebrating an inside joke. "Surprised?"

Courtney shrugged. "It doesn't look like you."

"It feels like me," he said, a touch of bitterness underlying the statement.

Duncan led her up a few rickety wooden stairs and through the screened porch, which was full of broken furniture and discarded toys. He unlocked the squeaky front door and stepped aside to let her in first, his proper manners seeming out of place for a location without so much as a chandelier or an in-ground pool.

She came into the room that served only three purposes; it was a place to throw your shoes, to keep a mirror for teeth checking before answering the door, and a place to usher others out of. There were minimal decorations aside from an alarming amount of floral pattern and potted plants. With the combined effects of the frilly rug, curtains, and flowery wreath, Courtney felt like she was Alice from _Alice in Wonderland_, stepping into the land of the giant singing flowers.

She looked around for a hookah-smoking caterpillar, but was disappointed.

"Where are your parents?" she asked, still inspecting the room.

"Working."

"Still?" It was already past 5, and looking past the flowery curtains she could see the sun had begun its usual descent in the auburn sky.

"My mom should be home soon. My brothers are all out tonight, too," he said for her benefit, as she was squinting at a family portrait tacked to the wall. Duncan's family was wearing matching blue hued shirts, and their smiles looked way too happy. His dad had Duncan's piercing eyes, only older and more sunken.

"Soo," Duncan drew out, slowly walking backwards into another room; this one red-walled and decorated with tiny kick-knacks and towering, stuffed bookcases. Courtney felt she was being ushered out of the flowery entrance, so she kicked off her boots and followed him.

Duncan wiggled the mouse of a fairly new computer to wake it up and looked over his shoulder at her. "I was looking through possible topics and-"

Courtney stopped him. "So you started without me?"

Duncan looked back at his monitor. "Um, of course."

"Why?!" she demanded, slinging her slouchy purple purse into a large chair.

"Because you are a slacker, Courtney."

She took a deep breath but no words came out, seeing as she had no retort. It was true. She let the breath fall into a heavy sigh, and she slumped into an armchair close to the whirring computer.

"Well, what's your idea, Dunkie?"

Duncan brightened, "The topic is The Concept of Deception! Lying is such a problem in today's world. So, I've already found a bunch of websites and I started a source page and I checked out a few books and-"

"Maybe we could research Type-A Whackjobs instead," she grinned.

"I _would_ say that I'd prefer to study punk-delinquent-slackers, to make a joke, but this is serious and I really do want to focus on Deception."

Courtney sighed, and her stomach gurgled noisily. She gave him a deflating look. "I'm not making any project decisions until I get some food!"

Then she was up on her feet, padding to the kitchen in her red-and-black striped socks. Duncan frowned, but followed her.

The kitchen looked as bad and out of date as the rest of the cramped house; though it's high ceilings with way too tall counters made a person feel a little miniature. Courtney began pulling cabinet doors open and slamming them shut, searching for snacks.

"Will you please be careful?" he snapped, catching a door.

"Sorry, but your kitchen is like a maze!" she shouted, opening more doors.

Duncan pointed to one higher up. "_That_ is the junk-food cupboard."

Duncan watched the process, trying not to laugh. Being average height, Courtney had to go up on her tiptoes to reach the impossibly high door. Her loose, grey shirt pulled up as she reached, exposing the soft curve of her ribcage. Duncan quickly looked away.

"Got it!" she cheered triumphantly, throwing the door open with the tips of her fingers. A couple of almost empty chip bags toppled out of the cabinet, exposing an empty s'mores PopTart box, an unopened bag of Good n' Plenty, and a few dry box mixes lined up in a pathetic row.

"What. The Hell. Is This?" Courtney emphasized dramatically. Duncan just laughed. His parents didn't stock up on food that wasn't overly healthy. Her unimpressed eyes scanned the boxes, lighting up at one near the end. Courtney snagged its corner with her fingertips and let it fall into her waiting hands below.

"Brownie mix?" Duncan asked, catching a glimpse of the front.

"Yup!" Courtney smiled smugly, and pushed the box into his hands. "You make these. I'm gonna go look at this 'deception' bull and see if I like it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Duncan set the box down and crossed his arms. "You want these? You make them!"

"Sorry. Courtney doesn't bake," she replied, grinning cheek to cheek.

"Well _Courtney_ is going to-"

"Just make them!" she called, as she was already back in the other room. "You seem like the type that can cook!"

Duncan just grumbled lightly and ripped open the cardboard top, because he had no response. He was an excellent cook.

...

"_Oh My Little Dunkie Cook!"_ Courtney singsonged, slipping back into the kitchen, "Where are my _damn_ brownies?" Duncan was at the counter, facing her, whisking a gooey brown concoction in a glass mixing bowl like a pro.

"Hey," He pointed his batter covered spoon at her menacingly, "Respect your chef."

Courtney sighed loudly, "Fi-ine! _Mister_ Little Dunkie Cook." She walked over to where he was working with the intent of sticking her finger in the bowl, but he swatted her hand away.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously, his eyes wide.

She shrugged, "I wanna taste it!"

"It has raw eggs in it, Courtney! Do you have a death wish?!"

"Lighten up, Prep."

She made a show of going for the bowl again, but Duncan held it away, using his body as a shield.

"Come on, Duncan! What's one taste gonna hurt?" She asked, straining her arms around his neck and torso to get to the bowl. She was entirely pressed up against him as she fought, and being in such a position, Courtney soon discovered the advantages to being so close. He was warm, and muscly, and his shirt was soft, and he smelled amazing. She smiled into his back.

"Courtney, for your own health I must insist that you KNOCK IT OFF," he commanded, his voice low.

"Ugh, fine." She stopped squirming and let go of him. He turned around slowly, still wary of her proximity to the bowl but happy that he won. Being mere inches apart, she hadn't seen his eyes so close up before; the paned windows cast an odd pattern of light in them. She backed away; not looking at him or the bowl anymore, and silently retreated into the other room again.

"They'll be ready in half an hour," he shouted as he poured the chunky, chocolaty mixture into a tiny metal pan and stuck it in the oven. After a second he added, "Hey, what do you think of the topic?"

"What I think, is that your girlfriend is walking up the sidewalk."

_"WHAT?!"_

Duncan skidded into the room and ran to the window, where Courtney was already situated. Sure enough, Gwen was marching up the walk in a fluffy white sundress, an unreadable expression on her face.

"She looks like a tampon," Courtney mentioned. Duncan was trying really hard not to laugh at that, but he was also equally horrified, leaving him with an awkwardly contorted face.

"Umm," Duncan pulled the drape closed and looked at Courtney nervously. If Gwen walked in and saw 'her enemy' Courtney, who was also wearing a rather short grey shirt and itty-bitty, ripped black shorts, she would no doubt dump him on the spot or possibly flay his skin and grill it into bacon strips. One never quite knew how Gwen would react to a bad situation. "Uh, go hide in my room!" he said finally.

"Why? We can all hang out like pals!" Courtney whined sarcastically, but he was already pushing her towards the stairs.

"It's the wooden door at the end of the hall! Don't come down; I'll come up when she's gone, okay?" he whisper-screamed at her.

Courtney flipped her bleached-and-pink hair over her shoulder pseudo-unhappily, and she began the trek to his room. Duncan quickly averted his eyes. He didn't need to be watching Courtney walk up his stairs in itty-bitty black shorts while his neurotic girlfriend was enclosing on his house for unknown intentions.

It was safe to say that he had reasons to be panicking.

Duncan glanced around the floral print entrance, his frantic eyes landing on Courtney's abandoned black boots.

_Her boots!_ He grabbed them and ran into the other room, only to see her purple cloth purse crumpled on a chair. Full of tense energy, he snatched that too and ran back to the entrance for lack of a better plan.

The doorbell rang.

Duncan froze. His arms were full of Courtney's belongings, and Gwen was peering into the window from outside the creaky porch. He dashed into the kitchen and dropped Courtney's things on the tiled floor in an undignified heap, kicking them into a corner.

The doorbell rang again, impatiently.

Duncan used the mirror to check his teeth, and flung the old door open. He crossed the creaky, caged porch in two strides and opened the patched screen door.

"Hi," Gwen greeted, putting her phone away and coming forward to hug him. Her hands rested on his shoulder blades, and she buried her face in his chest. She seemed weirdly un-energetic.

"I wasn't expecting you?" he replied, keeping one of his long hands on the back of her ravenhaired head.

She tilted her chin to look up at him. "Sorry. I just wanted to come talk about the election, and stuff."

Duncan led Gwen into his house, and they sat down in the red-walled room with the bookcases. Gwen sat primly at the edge of the leather armchair that Courtney had been stretched out on only minutes before. Duncan briefly wondered if it was still warm.

She smoothed out her skirt and spoke up in her usual cracking voice, "So, as you know, Lindsay is out of the race. That leaves you, me, Alejandro, Owen, and Harold."

Duncan nodded, not really understanding her serious tone or where she was going with this.

Gwen continued, "Harold's only in the election because he's popular. And I really doubt Alejandro or Owen will be much of a threat compared to us."

"Alright?" Duncan asked, looking confused.

Gwen looked right at him. "So I'm saying, I think we're the only true competitors in this thing and I just wanted to make sure that wouldn't be a problem- like with our relationship thing."

"No way! We'll fight fair," Duncan grinned. So that was it? What a relief.

Gwen couldn't look at him, but she smiled down at the crusty brown carpet. "I'm glad, because you know I'd never hurt you again like I did."

She was obviously referring to her indiscretion with Harold.

"I believe you," he said proudly. He bent down to kiss her, but she snapped her head away- looking towards the kitchen.

"Are you baking something?" she asked, sniffing the air.

"Yeah, um, brownies," Duncan said carefully. Suddenly he was in a minefield of exposing conversation.

Gwen looked like she was going to get up, but Duncan discreetly anchored on to her hand.

"From scratch, right?" she asked, "Or like, gluten free with flax seed?"

"Just a plain box mix, Sunshine."

Gwen shook her head. "Duncan, I'm happy to see that you can cook a box mix, but you shouldn't be eating that kind of stuff, let alone making it! That's the kind of crap poor people like Bridgette and Courtney eat."

Duncan frowned a little. "Incase you haven't noticed, I'm not too wealthy either, Gwen."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but you're gonna to be rich someday! People like _Courtney_," she sneered as she said the name, "will never amount to anything past box mixes and instant noodles."

Duncan thought back to the time he told Courtney she had no future. It seemed so cruel, now, especially coming from Gwen's mouth.

"Maybe brush up on your culinary skills, and I'll let you cook me dinner sometime," she smiled, trailing her fingernails along his bicep.

It was weird, but Duncan sometimes thought of Gwen as a vacuum. She came into his world and sucked out a lot of things that were probably junk, but he wished he could've kept anyway- ceramics class being a primary example. But Gwen always got her way, and that was just a set outcome.

Sure, she made him breathless with her beauty and determination, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Breathing around Gwen was like having the thinnest of air pulled into his lungs. It was like having a lack of oxygen, because Gwen dominated the entire air supply.

"I should be going," she said, standing up. She gave him a chaste kiss, and then she was clicking down his walk once again.

The loud oven timer buzzed angrily, making his thoughts jump back to the crazy, rebellious girl that he'd hid in his room like a bottle of rich wine during Prohibition.

...

"Courtney?" he knocked on his shut door, "I um, brought brownies! Sorry that it took so long..."

He turned the knob and walked in, balancing the metal pan in his left hand. Courtney was sprawled out on his neatly made bed, a framed picture was held in her hands and a few open books sat next to her.

Duncan's room looked exactly how a person would picture: dull and orderly, displaying trophies and certificates on leveled shelves. It was odd for him to see such an un-dull, un-orderly person lounging so comfortably in the room. Her colorful hair was splayed out on his dark blue pillows like ribbons.

"Is this your Grandma?" Courtney asked, gesturing to the gold frame that was still pointed at her.

"Yeah," Duncan confirmed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"She's pretty," Courtney said quietly, not looking away.

"Yeah, she is. I actually really love my Grandma," he admitted, slightly weirded out by the topic at hand. "Soooooo comments on the psychology topic?" Duncan inquired, passing her a sizable brownie hunk. She accepted it gratefully and took a large bite.

Courtney: Mmmmmmmmmm...

Duncan: Courtney, focus. Topic?

Courtney: This box mix is delicious.

Duncan: Courtney, please.

Courtney: It really is a shame Gwen doesn't like poor people food.

Duncan: ... You could hear us?

Courtney gave him a tired smirk, and went back to staring at the picture.

Duncan set the brownie pan aside. "Courtney, Gwen's just a very opinionated person. Sometimes she can be a little mean about-"

"The Concept of Deception sounds like an excellent topic, Dunkie," Courtney interrupted. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling heavily.

"Really?" Duncan asked, his face lighting up happily.

"Sure, but don't expect me to carry you," Courtney warned, smiling warmly at him.

_That smile..._

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied. He couldn't help but grin; a beautiful, interesting girl was laying on his bed after all, in his room, his very small, very stuffy room.

"Is it hot in here?" he asked, tugging at his collar.

She nodded towards his window, where the setting sun resided. "Do you wanna climb out on your roof?"

...

Climbing out the window was the easy part; being sedentary on the sliding shingles was another story, though Duncan and Courtney managed it until the moon was high in the black sky and they'd gone through every conversation in the book.

"And, I wouldn't say it, because I think our generation's obsession with eyes is cheesy, but you really do have pretty ones," she said sincerely, not really looking at him but the object in her hands: a pinecone.

"How so?" he smirked. If anyone else had said that to him, he would've smiled and said 'thank you' or, 'you too', but Courtney was different. She deserved a different reply, and seeing her in a more vulnerable state made him feel oddly playful. But his gentlemanly manners made him, after a beat, add, "-If I may ask, of course."

She smiled embarrassingly and blew out a long breath. "Like you need me to tell you. Look in a mirror!"

He kept staring at her until she looked up, her breath noticeably hitching in her throat when she did. Something sparkled in her eyes, and the air felt thicker. Duncan tried to swallow the pool of spit that had collected under his tongue; it went down loudly.

"Well, um," Courtney started, brushing her bangs from her face, "You have longer eyelashes than me! And," she studied his irises, her own brown ones jumping between his, "this color wouldn't be in any crayon box. Like, you'd have to mix a bunch together to get such a weird, melty greeny blue. But crayons are waxy, and yours look really... like... I don't know. Shimmery?"

Duncan felt a blush creep up on his face, and he was suddenly thankful she made them go outside. They kept looking at each other, in the most curious of ways. Breathing was still difficult, but it was like breathing through an inhaler; it felt uncomfortable, and yet you knew it was right. Necessary, even.

"So, there you go!" Courtney said with finality, scooting further away from him.

He chuckled. "That was poetry."

She glared and muttered something about a sarcastic 'Bouche-Dag'.

"So why do you think eyes are overrated?" he asked, not ready not stop talking.

Courtney smiled mischievously. "I like lips."

Duncan immediately pursed his own, "Why's that?"

She sighed, "Because Dunkie, I don't know!"

"Come on. There's gotta be a reason!"

She looked down, smiling, "Well... I guess I like how many different shapes they can be. Like plump, or thin, or uneven... I like smiles too. They're all unique."

He couldn't breathe. It was so perfectly Courtney- unique and unbiased and painfully charming. "I would like smiles better too, if mine were as immaculate as yours," he said quietly, any additional volume requiring more air in his lungs.

And she beamed that crazy smile right at him, unintentionally blinding him. "Like I said before, go look in a mirror."

"What?"

She shrugged, "You have a nice smile!"

He looked at her blankly, so she felt the need to elaborate. "You... are... pretty!" she said slowly, like she was trying to make conversation with an exceptionally stupid preschooler.

"I don't get it," he said, smiling a little because he was uncomfortable. If she was making fun of him, she was being weird about it.

"Duncan," Courtney said with a semi-serious face, "You do realize that you're extremely attractive, right?"

Duncan rolled his eyes. "I'm a nerd, Courtney!"

She scoffed, feigning shock, "_You?_ A _nerd?!"_

"Yeah, yeah," he scowled. Courtney only giggled and punched his shoulder.

"Calm down, Dunkie! Yes, you're a preppy egghead, but that doesn't mean you aren't attractive! Which, you are," she grinned, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Stop saying that," he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

She patted his back lightly. "You'll accept it someday."

He looked up at her, a wondering look on his moonlit face. "You know, you aren't as awful and obnoxious as you first seemed."

She seemed taken aback. "Gee. Thanks, Dunkie." She threw her pinecone off the side of the dark house; it clattered on the ground.

"No!" Duncan waved his hands in front of him, "What I meant was, you're actually... kind of cool."

Courtney shot him a sour look and started to get up. "Don't be dumb," she grumbled, slipping through the window.

And then she was gone, and he was left in solitary darkness under the dull moon. Why couldn't he say anything right? And why did it matter? He had a girlfriend as of three days ago! Duncan eventually released a building sigh and followed her through the window, but his sigh made him pause. Tentatively, he took another breath. It could've been his imagination, but without her present, the air just felt thinner. Weaker.

And at that burdened moment, Duncan wanted an inhaler, not a vacuum.

...


	6. Chapter 6

**A huge, enormous, GIGANTIC thanks to my fabulous, amazing reviewers: Anon1, Torie Rilistkrytcat, Helmet 798, Light of the Dawn, Animeninja454, Supercillium, MEGA DUNCNEY FAN, She Invictus, GreenPokeGuy, EmeraldQueen14, Anon2, Jacksinabox, Anon3, play for keeps, Tiggystretch, and anyone else who favorited, followed, and read!**

**There are a couple big character introductions in this chapter, but sadly, they don't get much depth right now. Owen's character: I see Owen, in the show, as just this dumb, disgusting dude. He is lovable!- he's just pretty gross, in my sight at least. Keep this in mind. I'll talk about Alejandro at the end, because he needs a little more explanation and I don't want to give anything crucial away.**

**Thank you all for the love c: Please enjoy this plot-expanding chapter!**

**...**

A Classic Love Story

...

Chapter 6: Classic Crazy

...

"Okay spazzoid, you get the gist?" Noah asked quietly.

Bridgette stood in front of him, a tiny camcorder resting in her small, dirty hands. She nodded at the spandex-clad boy, smiling a hideous, machinating grin of pointy teeth and black gums.

Looking only slightly concerned, Noah continued, "I only asked you to do this 'cus you got a major sick on the preps. You're a brutal bunk, but I need recruitments for _The Cause_ I can trust. You buyin' what I'm sellin'?"

Bridgette nodded again, but it was clear that the dour girl had stopped listening; she was pushing various rubber buttons on her new video camera with the intent mystery of a caveman approaching fire for the first time.

Noah bravely placed one of his sequin-gloved hands on her shoulder. "I'm counting on you, Night Queen."

Bridgette returned the gesture, gently touching his shoulder with her own hand and staring solemnly into his brown eyes that were now completely painted around with sticky black face paint. Her message was conveyed: _I won't let you down._

Noah grinned, setting a straw hat on top of his head. "Excuse me, I got a thing."

And just like that, he slipped his hand around the edge of the heavy velvet curtain, and disappeared out of her sight. Bridgette continued smiling her devious smile, but knew better than to stick around. A wave of shocked gasps had already begun on the other side of the curtain, and Mr. McLean's and the principal's angry voices were tearing through the speakers.

Cue phase one.

...

Exactly five class periods earlier...

...

She sat in a comfy, swivel chair as the principal skimmed the detention request paper her teacher had sent in advance, his wild brown irises twitching between words, straining to see in the dark office. Once he was done, he set the paper aside and peered over his delicate reading glasses, one bushy black eyebrow raised. He spoke in a firm, disjointed speech. "Courtney, please explain what happened today."

Courtney raised one of her dark eyebrows in response. "Shouldn't you be downstairs loading tater tots into the industrial ovens, Chef?"

Principal Hatchet set his thin-framed glasses down and glowered at her, deep creasing lines appearing on his forehead. "Out there, you may refer to me as Chef. But in here, I am Principal Hatchet! Now tell me what happened!"

Courtney sighed, kicking her red patent leather boots beneath her into the dingy, threadbare carpet. "Look, my teacher was telling us how we weren't getting our quizzes back because -quote- 'he got a little behind' -unquote- and I simply said, regrettably loudly, that 'it didn't look so little to me'!"

Principal Hatchet had to fight back threatening giggles by pounding his large fist on his solid mahogany desk, like a judge's gavel. "Erp- That's three days detention with Miss Blainley for disrespect!"

"Hatchet, you have to admit I wasn't wrong! It's definitely not the smallest 'behind'," Courtney protested, somewhat pleased with her principal's struggling reaction.

Chef accidentally conjured up a mental picture of the scene, and he could hold back his building laughter no more. Cackling, he held up two fingers, and one of the secretary ladies hastily led Courtney out of the tiny windowless office, where the principle's echoing howls only seemed to build on top of one another.

"I'll make it two days, hoohoohoohaahaa! For the laugh! Two days detention, Courtney!" he called after her between fits of uncontrollable laughter. "Starting today!"

...

_*crackling intercom static*_

_Mr. McLean: Is this.. Is it on? Yeah? Okay. Good morning, students! As you all know, student body president elections are tomorrow, and today will be the final debate among the competitors! Your classes will all be cut five minutes short so we actually have time to hold the event during school today. Everyone get to the auditorium after sixth period for some wicked crazy debating!_

_Mister McLean, out!_

_...Is it... Is it off?_

_*intercom fizzles off*_

...

Duncan stood before a floor length mirror edged with bulbous lights, one of many behind the dark school auditorium stage, and admired his murky reflection. He donned a sleek black suit, a bright white collared shirt and plain black tie- not too snug. His dark hair had been coiffed back to his liking, and his eyes looked abnormally lucent, despite the deep purple bags that resided beneath them.

"You clean up good, Prep!" a voice called out behind him. Duncan hardly had to guess who it was as he stepped aside to see, _surprise surprise_, Courtney in the mirror's reflection, grinning impishly and holding a large grey tackle box.

"What's up, Court?" he asked, yawning.

She strode over to him, her plaid skirt swishing around her knees. She was obviously giving him the one-over in the way her brown eyes flitted from his shiny black shoes to his face, lingering there for just a moment longer. "Just checkin' out backstage," she claimed, "I hadn't been yet! How are you doing?"

Duncan scrubbed at his sleep encrusted eyes. "I've been better."

"Nervous about the face-off with your girlfriend?" Courtney teased, shifting her weight to compensate for the heavy box she was lugging.

"Not funny." Duncan scolded dryly. Courtney examined his face intently, squinting her eyes at his own.

"What?" he asked, shielding himself with his hand. He didn't like being studied.

"I can fix that, you know!" she said, poking at the purple bags. He swatted her hand away. Courtney frowned and gestured at his suit. "You can't go out in front of the entire school looking like some James Bond zombie."

Duncan looked deflated. "You don't like it?" he pouted.

Courtney shrugged listlessly, but didn't take her heavy-lashed eyes off him. "I prefer plaid button up, ripped jeans kind of guys."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Of course you will, Dunkie," she replied in a sticky sweet voice, clicking her nails on the side of the grey container. "Now, sit."

She lightly pushed his shoulder, but Duncan didn't have much strength to balance himself. He flopped, rather ungracefully, into the chair beside the mirror. Courtney pretended to ignore this. She dropped the box with echoing satisfaction and flipped it open to reveal tubes of crinkled, half-empty face paints used for Halloween costumes or stage productions.

"What are you doing with those?" he asked, giving her a quizzical look.

"Um. Um. I was just delivering this for Sadie! She, uh, borrowed it for her extended acting class and, um, asked me to bring it back here," she stuttered lamely. If Duncan had been more awake, he might've picked up on Courtney's lack of deception. He was just so damned tired.

"Okay," Courtney smiled, selecting a fleshy colored tube, "This is gonna be a little cold, Princess."

"At least call me 'Prince'!" he complained.

She gave him a look. "Stop smelling like a female and maybe I will!"

He wrinkled his nose. Gwen had picked out his cologne for him.

Duncan watched as she squeezed a tiny dot of the foundation onto her fingers. Then, ever so carefully, she brought her tan hand to his face and gently smeared the cool liquid makeup under his sore eyes. He found his eyelids closing, partly from exhaustion, but also because it actually felt really good. She smoothed the cream slowly, carefully, cautiously, like she were fixing a chip in a priceless vase. Her fingers were soft, and her breathing was shallow.

When he looked into the bleary mirror behind him, he looked completely refreshed.

"Wow, Courtney!" he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips, "Thank you!"

She dropped the tube back into the box. "Yup!" she replied, grinning wide as she popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

His features hardened. "Don't tell anyone I let you put makeup on me."

She just chuckled and resealed the box with a click. "It's stage makeup, Dunkie. You're going on a stage? It's completely appropriate!"

Duncan shook his head and yawned, pulling out a few note cards from his suit pocket. "I... I'm just gonna go over what I'm going to say, again," he told her, a little apologetic.

But she only beamed at him, pushing some of her pink hair from her face with her free hand. "Break a leg, Prep." She wiped her make-up coated fingers on her skirt.

He smiled back and bent over in his plastic seat to study the pencil smudged note cards, a religious activity for a veteran speech giver such as himself. As Courtney walked away though, her smile slid right off her face and was replaced with a concerned, tight-lipped line.

She continued wandering around backstage, admiring large cardboard props and dangling ropes, when a sibilant _'pst!'_ drew her attention. Courtney turned to see that emerging from the darkness of a curtain fold, was Noah.

"Paint me up, sister!" he smiled.

She only rolled her eyes and set the kit down. "Why didn't you get Katie to do this? She's the artist- not me."

"She ain't par for _The Cause_. This is your gateway to further my trust, enigma," Noah explained, rolling down his spandex sleeves. Courtney bit her bottom lip to contain her laughter.

"You're really going to wear that?" she asked, readying her supplies on the ground.

"Fight the power," Noah replied simply. A bulky silver video camera peeped out of his stretching pocket.

"What's that for?" she asked.

Noah shrugged. "Dunno."

Courtney glanced up at him. "Gateway to further trust?"

He ruffled her hair with his sequined gloved hand. "You'll get there, man. Now whip me up a pro-freedom mask!"

As she applied the face paint to Noah, her mind was elsewhere. She thought about Duncan, and her concern only deepened as her thoughts circled around one another in a sporadic dance. Because little did Duncan know, she had noticed the suspicious, thick white bandage wrapped around his hand, and she had noticed how his weary eyes were just a little too high for his parting smile to reach.

...

_"Duncan, where are you?"_

_"In my room!"_

_Heavy footsteps came thundering up the creaky wooden stairs, two at a time._

Uh-oh.

_His father didn't even bother knocking as he stormed into Duncan's room, flinging the door into the wall with a shattering clang. There was a small patch of drywall missing behind the old knob, where the door had repeatedly hit time after time. Duncan had stopped trying to fix it years ago._

_The old man's eyes leveled on his son, who was sitting in his tidy room at a small plastic desk, schoolbooks piled up all around him._

_"Duncan, are you working on your campaign? Don't you have an important debate tomorrow?" his father demanded. He hulked in the doorway, his towering shadow stretching to Duncan's feet._

_Duncan cleared his throat nervously, noticing that his dad was still wearing his dirty factory jumpsuit and had that uneven look in his scratchy blue eyes, a mirror of his own. His father was an angry, crusty, muscular man, with greying hair and worn, calloused hands, and when he'd had a particularly bad day, he had no problem letting every member of his family know. Loudly. At times like this, his father was unpredictable. "Um, I'm actually working on my Cold War report, Sir, and-"_

_"Duncan! You need to win that presidency so you can add it to your college application! How else do you expect to get a scholarship?! We cannot pay for college, Duncan, get that through your worthless head!"_

_Duncan tried not to react to the harsh words and replied calmly, "Look, Dad, I'm the president of nine different school clubs, I volunteer at the homeless shelter on weekends, I play varsity soccer, and I've had A's in all my classes since middle school. I'm doing my best."_

_"Your best isn't good enough, boy!" Duncan's dad yelled, his wrinkled face turning red. "It's 100 percent or nothing!"_

_As the rotten old man turned to leave, his hairy ears picked up a mutter, something practically inaudible. _You should talk.

_"What did you just say?" he hissed, reeling to look down at his son._

_"Nothing, Sir," Duncan mumbled, his eyes on the ground._

_"I HAVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING YOU OWN! I'VE SACRIFICED EVERYTHING FOR THIS FAMILY!" Duncan's dad screamed, gripping the woodwork of the door's archway for fear of lurching at his son, the doorway nails creaking in protest to the pulling weight._

_It was Duncan's turn to get mad, though his heart was beating madly in his chest from fear. He leapt from his chair and pointed at the old man, "You? You've sacrificed everything? What about me? I work just as hard as you, and-" _

_Duncan flinched his arms up to protect his head; the glass impacted on his hand and shattered to the ground. The table next to his dad was bare of a framed picture._

_"YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME. YOU WILL NOT BACKTALK ME!" his dad shrieked, breathing raggedly, his darkened eyes stormy with unrelenting rage. Duncan's terrified expression turned livid as his dad grabbed the brass knob and slammed the door shut behind him, making the shelved trophies on Duncan's wall quiver._

_"CLEAN THAT UP!" he added as he noisily descended the stairs, his dirty work boots clomping loudly against the weathered wooden stairs once again._

_Duncan seethed. His veins were pulsing furiously, begging his hands to curl into fists and his legs to stand and run after his father. Instead, he knelt to the ground and began picking up thin pieces of glass, cursing his father with an unending string of profanities. As he worked, he noticed a warm trickle running down his palm. _

_Blood._

_He sighed and applied pressure to the wound with his other hand, the blood around the gash coagulating. The stinky, metallic scent made him wince. This wasn't the first time his dad had done something so irrational, but he did have a point. Duncan needed to work harder._

_After sweeping up the glass and applying a bandaid, Duncan dusted off the picture of his Grandma, propped it up on his desk, and settled back into his plastic chair, readying himself for an all-nighter of studying and prepping for the debate the next day. He didn't reply to Gwen when she texted him a couple hours later, asking if he was excited for the debate and if he was ready. Instead, he worked, and researched, and typed, and drank coffee, and worked, and worked, and worked, until the sun peeped through the slated shades into his eyes, cracked and red._

...

"Okay, Harold, what is your presidential platform?" Mr. McLean asked into the microphone. He sat at a foldout table next to Principle Hatchet, a pitcher of water between them. Five podiums were set up on stage, one for each candidate.

Harold leaned into the microphone and said, "My platform is this stage I'm standing on. I think. What does platform mean?"

"It means, what are your aims, or goals, if you become president," the psychology teacher replied patiently.

"Oh. Um, I guess that would have to be... No more homework!" Harold responded in his raspy voice, smirking. A loud whooping erupted from the audience, mostly from the other jocks. Harold tossed his muscular arms into the air victoriously. His letterman jacket sleeves bunched up at his shoulders, meeting the bottom of his auburn hair he styled so effortlessly.

"Thoroughly underwhelming, Harold," Mr. McLean said. "Gwen! You're next!"

Gwen, in her patriotic red and white dress, stood up tall and smiled winningly at her classmates. She took a quick breath, and spoke with unmatched confidence. "If I, Gwen, were to receive the _immense_ honor of the title of Student Body President," she winked conspiratorially at the audience, "I would clean up the cafeteria of the roach infestation, the Winter Prom would be funded generously, and I would abolish administrative redundancies."

"I'm right here," the principle muttered under the applause the students gave for Gwen. She curtsied happily.

Chris McLean just smiled, "Very good, Gwen! Alejandro, you're next!"

Alejandro adjusted his knit sweater vest. He pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose and nervously leaned into the microphone. "'_¡Hola!_ If I-" feedback howled from the speakers, deafening everyone in the auditorium.

Alejandro looked out at the crowd sheepishly. "_Lo siento._ Er... sor-ry." Alejandro's thick Hispanic accent and barely-there English made it difficult for anyone to understand. "If I president, I make mucho _importanté_ change! No more bully! More money school! Fundraisers!"

A polite applause rippled through the crowd. "Thank you, Alejandro. Those were some good points!" Mr. McLean complimented. "Probably. Owen, it's your turn."

The big-boned blonde stepped up to his podium, nodding politely at his competitors. "Thank you ever so much, Mister McLean. May I say that your hair looks absolutely stunning this day?"

Mr. McLean smiled. "Why thank you Owen!"

Owen nodded and continued. "I must say, these chaps, " he gestured to the other four competitors, "are all kind, intelligent people, and I do say they are all fit to run this student body. However, I must begin my orate." Owen chuckled and took out a piece of paper, unfolding it to twice, three- four times it's folded size. Chris and Chef Hatchet groaned.

Owen secured a tiny pair of circular reading glasses behind his recently cleaned ears, and began reading. "It was April sixth, a rainy spring day, when my nurse and I went out to play in the fields..."

Ten minutes later, the paper was folded once again, and the spectacles were returned to his buttoned trouser pocket. He wiped down the microphone with a fresh handkerchief.

"Thank you ever so much, everyone!"

Chris looked up from the crook of his arm, where he had been sleeping for the past nine minutes. A tiny spot of drool had soaked through the teacher's sleeve. "Good job, Owen. Um... Duncan!" he slammed his tired head back down on the table, rattling the water pitcher. "You're next!"

Duncan cleared his throat and leaned into his microphone, smiling out at the crowd.

But before he could speak, a glittery figure dashed out in front of him.

"I BELIEVE THAT HUMANKIND NEED NOT BE GOVERNED! RID YOURSELVES OF HIERARCHY!"

Shocked gasps rose from the audience, taking in Noah's appearance. Dressed in a tight spandex red, white, and blue suit, he was the spitting image of Uncle Sam, except for his face, which was painted to look like a shadowy skull.

"That's strike three, Noah!" Principle Hatchet roared, getting up from his seat.

Noah took one look at the ex-military school authority charging towards him and sprinted to the other side of the stage. Pulling out a styrofoam egg carton he'd secured to his back, he began randomly throwing eggs into the crowd, each one impacting with a crunchy squish. Noah pointed his middle finger at the oncoming principle, took a bow, and quietly dodged behind the thick red curtain.

"My hair!" Chris cried, wiping eggy projectile from his beloved locks. The whole student body was in an uproar, throwing splattered egg remains back up on stage and at each other. A cacophony of screaming, crying, laughing, and yelling filled up the auditorium and exploded into a din administrative and janitorial nightmare.

Principle Hatchet stopped center stage, leaning on his knees and wheezing from his abrupt extrusion of energy. The raucous noise died down under his powerful glare.

Duncan took this time to speak. He grabbed his podium's microphone, a tiny spark of feedback following, and cried, "If I become president, I'll make sure Noah is banned from all future school debates!"

The applause was deafening.

"Okay," Chris called out over the cheers, "Let's get back to this debate! Question number two..."

...

Miss Blainley led Courtney, Heather, and a handful of other no-names to the auditorium.

"Okay, children! Your first task is to clear the aisles of debris. Then we shall tidy up the stage," the teacher smiled, passing out trash bags. At Awkanawaw High, if a student got detention with Miss Blainley specifically, they had a shorter detention period but they had to spend it 'beautifying the school by the art of cleaning'. It was basically torture.

Courtney and Heather took off in the same direction.

"So what'd you do to get here again?" Courtney asked, picking up a stray piece of paper and stuffing it in her bag.

Heather shook her head sadly. "Gwen turned in my phone the day I was taking pictures of her and Duncan for my school blog, because she said it was against 'school rules'. But when she went to my picture file to show Chef and delete them," Heather looked away, fidgeting and blushing fiercely, "well... I get really into Mortal Kombat cosplay."

Courtney laughed, "Enough said!" She'd already seen more of Noah that day than she'd ever wanted to, she didn't need the visual of Heather in some skanky fighting costume as well.

"Yeah, well apparently I'm just lucky I didn't get suspended," Heather shrugged, grabbing a plastic wrapper. "Some people just don't understand art."

The two girls continued picking up various pieces of trash for several more minutes in amicable silence. Then Heather began eyeing Courtney like she wanted to say something. Courtney tried not to notice.

"_Ahem_," Heather quietly cleared her throat, looking expectantly at Courtney.

No response.

"_AHEM_," Heather tried again.

Courtney was seemingly oblivious as she bent over to grab another paper shred.

"_Ahem! Ahem! A-ahem! A-A-A-AHEM!"_

"Jesus Christ, Heather!" Courtney exploded, "You have a hair ball or something?"

"Oh good, we're talking again!" Heather said cheerfully. "So speaking of Duncan, how are you two getting along?"

Courtney's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Heather poked her fingers together. "Well, word on the blogosphere is that you got yourself a love interest!" she said carefully, adding a dramatic wave of her arms, "I can see it now! The punk and the prep: total opposites, totally attracted!"

"Heather, knock it off. We barely know eachother," Courtney scowled.

Heather smiled sneakily, like she knew something Courtney didn't.

"What now?" Courtney sighed, grabbing an empty can from under a seat.

"You like him!" Heather cried excitedly.

"No I don't!" Courtney countered angrily. After a few more seconds of Heather's creepy grin, Courtney rolled her eyes. "I mean, yeah, he's good-looking, but he's a total buzz kill. I mean, he likes studying, and khaki pants, and being perfect at everything, and he has more perfume than me, and, oh yeah, he HAS A GIRLFRIEND." She empathized the last part of her sentence so loud that Miss Blainley shushed them from across the auditorium.

Courtney lowered her voice and made a disgusted face. "And Gwen's just as _perfect_ as he is! They're just so _perfect_ together!"

Heather just kept grinning. "But that doesn't mean you can't like him."

Courtney stared at Heather for a long time, and Heather just did a little dance. Eventually, Courtney turned away and glared at the garbage-less ground.

"...Shut the hell up."

...

**Alejandro Note: So, in the show, I feel like Alejandro uses his sweet accent to his advantage. So naturally, I made his accent a cripple. A lot of international people struggle with English because it's a freaky language! I wanted to make it clear that he's just a gawky foreign exchange student, and that I'm not, to my knowledge, being racist. I just wanted to toss this in here because the last thing I want is to offend you guys.**

**Thanks for reading, lovelies**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: A giant, mountain-sized thanks to my reviewers this time around, pansy cake, Light of the Dawn, Helmet 798, Tiggystretch, Torie Rilistkrytcat, Munchlax Jr, Pussycat7, MEGA DUNCNEY FAN, She Invictus, play for keeps, EmeraldQueen14, ShadowSwan9, and anyone else who favorited, followed, or read.**

**So.. I **_**actually**_** used a paraphrased version of Courtney's eye speech compliment from chapter five on the guy I really really like, and well, it worked. In celebration of this, the next chapter is going to be the fluffiest marshmallow pillow whipped cream fluff yet.**

**This chapter was really difficult to string together because I kept re-writing things. I'm glad one reviewer mentioned Aleheather, because I'm keeping most of the original pairings! Once Izzy is introduced (not in this chapter), you guys will have to let me know if you prefer Ozzy or Nizzy.**

**Thanks for reading!**

...

A Classic Love Story

...

Chapter 7: Classic Shit

...

"Oh, Duncan, happy one week anniversary!" Gwen gushed, throwing her pale, slender arms around Duncan's neck and squeezing.

Duncan pulled himself from her grip. "Gwen, I hate to break it to you, but it's only Thursday... We started dating last Friday."

She only smiled smugly back at him, clicking her tongue. "You _know_ I'm busy tomorrow!" Gwen's parents were taking her out to dinner to celebrate winning the election she hadn't won yet.

He ignored her comment and handed her a small bouquet of lavender, tied with a knobby string. "These are for you," he grinned, taking in her reaction.

Her dark eyes expanded, greedily looking over the soft purple petals. "Where did you get these? They aren't even in season!" she breathed, turning the flowers in her hand.

Duncan shrugged. "My grandma has a greenhouse; she'd been saving those for," he paused reflectively, "...for something special."

Gwen's smile widened, and a beady glint entered her eyes. "Then they're perfect for me!"

Duncan nodded absently, clearly enveloped in different thoughts.

Her eyes narrowed a bit. She curled her hand around his suit-sleeved bicep and fluttered her eyes up at him. "You think I'm special, right?"

"Of course," Duncan smiled reassuringly.

She gripped Duncan's un-bandaged hand, her long red nails scratching his palm, and pressed her face up against his neck with aplomb. "I love that cologne," she said quietly, her ruby red lips against his ear.

Duncan thought it was funny; recently he couldn't stand the smell.

Gwen and Duncan continued their leisurely pace on the cobble promenade, admiring the tiny flowering shrubs and dewy, dangling willow branches. The walk was lit up by antique oil lamps, rewired with electricity, but the dancing fireflies bobbing along the grass and full, yellow moon provided enough light as it was.

Duncan glanced down at his girlfriend. Her pallor skin was flushed a healthy pink, her sparkly black eye shadow rested heavily on her dusty lashes, and her tight, dark green dress hugged her sinuous curves expertly, though it was a little short for Gwen's usual taste. The hormonal side of Duncan didn't hate it. She wore her glossy black hair straight, and the way it fluttered softly against her jaw at the slightest wind made Duncan's knees tremble.

"So," Duncan started, "What do you have planned for our date?"

"I'm glad you asked!"

Gwen pulled out a perfectly folded piece of paper from her clutch, as if on cue. She began reading. "8:10- meet Duncan. 8:11- receive flowers!" Gwen looked at him approvingly, but Duncan just rolled his eyes. Of course she'd expected him to bring flowers. "8:15 to 8:25- stroll gardens. 8:30- arrive at fountain and enjoy an incredible meal. 9:00- back to my house for..." Gwen trailed off, biting her lip suggestively, "...dessert."

_Whoa._

The couple finally came upon the fountain, and Gwen had completely outdone herself. The large stone fountain was lit up for the nighttime, the water reflection glimmered against the grey detailing of the elaborate park fountain. A small table had been set up in front of it, a simple white, lacy tablecloth sat on top, along with two covered silver platters. Strings of twinkling lights had been braided above them, coming to a point above the sloshing water feature. But the most prominent element about the elegant set up was the bounds and bounds of blooming pastel flowers. They spilled out of vases stacked upon the fountain stairs, and gushed along the walkway in planters and boxes. Duncan half expected a string quartet to appear.

There was also a tiny girl dressed in all black with spidery blonde hair pointing a silver video camera their way, but no one seemed to notice that.

It was the perfect romantic date destination. The sheer over-the-top beauty of the scene before him rendered Duncan almost speechless, yet he managed to utter, "Gwen.. How... How did you do all this?"

She waved her hand in the air nonchalantly. "Eva did it all, I just paid for it. She's such a sappy romantic, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Duncan breathed, impressed, soaking in the atmosphere.

Gwen pouted. "Well don't go running off with Eva! It's bad enough I have to worry about Courtney."

That comment got his attention. "What do you mean?" he asked, spinning to face her.

Gwen looked away. "Well, you're partners with that _slutbag_ for the stupid psychology project!" She glanced back up at him, her brows knit together sadly, "And you're just spending a lot of time with her, is all."

Duncan frowned. "Courtney isn't a 'slutbag'. She's really cool if you talk to her!"

"That's all you seem to be doing lately, Duncan!" Gwen cried, crossing her arms.

"What are you even talking about? I barely ever see her!" he yelled back.

"Really? When's the last time you talked to her then?" Gwen demanded.

Duncan thought back to earlier that day, remembering the lingering feeling of Courtney's soft fingers under his eyes.

"Awhile ago," he lied.

Gwen huffed angrily, turning her back on him. Her dress was backless, very backless. Was she even wearing a bra? The hormonal side of Duncan took control of the situation.

"Gwen, let's just go eat, please?" he asked softly.

Without turning Gwen responded stubbornly, "Admit that I'm right."

"You're right."

Gwen looked back at him. "And promise you'll stop spending time with Courtney!"

"Promise," Duncan sighed. He wouldn't mention to Gwen that he and Courtney had already planned to meet Friday, after school.

"Okay," she nodded her head, smiling. He pulled out the curly metal chair for her, scraping it on the concrete, and took his place in the other. He thoughtfully leaned his chin on his knuckles, watching Gwen set up her silverware. Despite all her arrogance and eccentrics, Gwen was supremely beautiful, as was her choice in date location and preparation.

He hated all the damn flowers, though.

The petals continued to float past them, like a rainfall of sweet smelling snow. Gwen loved it; he picked the offending blossoms from his food.

Gwen surveyed the scene. The fountain was gurgling, the flowers were shedding, and the lights were twinkling like a firmament of their own. Duncan looked happy, picking at his salmon dish, and Gwen decided to go for it.

"Duncan, we dated for a while last year and a lot of the year before, and I know it didn't end so well, but things change..."

He looked up from his food, thankful for a distraction. Apparently she had forgotten that he hated seafood. _Again_.

"...People change! And well, I really like you," she added shyly. She looked him in the eyes, smoldering him with her serious gaze. Petals swept around her bare, milky white shoulders; the moon shone brightly in the starry sky. She took his un-bandaged hand in hers, though the bandaged one sat in plain view. He pulled it back under the table.

"No," she said firmly, as if coming to some mental clarity, " 'Like' is the wrong word... I-

"I love you, Duncan."

...

The next day wasn't just some ordinary Friday; it was Election Day. The five candidates stood by the voting booths, smiling and chatting with the people in line. The entire senior class was present to vote, minus Noah, who was being detained in the detention room for obvious reasons, and Cody, who had recently been caught breaking into Sierra's locker. He claims it was to return a book, but her gym socks mysteriously disappeared. He was also in detention hall.

Owen was bowing and kissing hands politely, Alejandro was carefully stuttering out his goals again to a curious crowd, and Gwen and Duncan stood

side-by-side, hands clasped together, smiling and laughing amicably like they weren't competing against each other. Harold stood by a cluster of people, looking surprisingly formal in a green button down.

Heather and Courtney shuffled in the line.

"Ugh, that Amish girl, Anne Maria, needs to move her giant head. As if a bonnet is really practical is a hot gym! Come on!" Heather snarled viciously, standing on her tiptoes. Courtney just chuckled at her nerdy friend's rage. Heather had been impatiently trying to catch a glimpse of Harold since they entered the gym.

"Heather, you'll see him when you get up there," Courtney said with a shrug.

Heather didn't stop searching until she noticed Duncan and Gwen and their proximity to each other. "I see your future boyfriend over there!" she giggled. Courtney swiftly punched Heather's skinny arm.

"Duncan is _not_ my future boyfriend! I do _not_ like him!" Courtney whisper-yelled, just loud enough for only Heather to hear.

"Ouch," Heather pouted, rubbing her arm. Her greasy black bangs swung into her face. "Well it's a good thing that you don't like him, or watching this would be really painful."

"What do you mean?" Courtney asked, pushing Heather aside. She craned her neck over the others blocking her view for her eyes to land on the sight of Duncan and Gwen kissing, while others around them gushed how 'cute' and 'adorable' the couple was. She noticed that Duncan wasn't wearing a suit that day, but rather, a vest, and she also noticed how Gwen was possessively hanging onto the bottom of it, even when they left their embrace.

Courtney immediately turned back to Heather. Though her heart rate had just double-timed and a small lump had developed in her throat, Courtney only rolled her eyes. "Who cares if he makes out with his girlfriend? That's why they're dating, right? And vests aren't even that cute, so I _don't_ care. Nope. I don't-"

"Courtney, enough with your denial! I see Harold!" Heather beamed. Her face fell into a serious gaze of pure lust. "God, his shoulders roll like a panther when he walks," she mumbled, twirling a piece of her ponytail between her fingers.

Courtney smiled, letting her eyes wander. She looked around and recognized a few people: Beth, Tyler, DJ, Noah, _wait he's not supposed to be in here_, and Izzy, but her gaze stopped on Alejandro. He was tall, tan, and his long hair framed his face in a way that actually made him look decent. Courtney pondered if he ditched the sweater vests and goggle glasses, that he might actually clean up well. She spotted an _R2D2_ keychain sprouting from his pocket and tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Heather," she turned to her friend, "Have you ever thought about going out with Alejandro?"

Heather looked taken aback, her small eyebrows flying up at the thought. "I've.. I've never really considered Alejandro as a-" her eyes flickered back over to Harold, and she squealed. "_OOO!_ He's looking this way! God, his neck muscles are so.. so.. prominent! And his eyes are so green! I've always wondered what a pure jade crystal looked like. If only I could just run my fingers through his red hair..."

Courtney shook her head. If Heather could play matchmaker, so could she.

"So," Heather began, coming back to reality, "Who are you voting for?"

Courtney frowned, glancing back at Duncan and Gwen who had their arms happily wrapped around each other. Duncan pecked Gwen's cheek, to which she smiled and said something about not smearing her makeup.

Courtney sighed and crossed her arms. "I don't know yet."

...

"Hey, Courtney!"

The punk girl spun around to see Duncan jogging up behind her, his dark bangs flopping against his forehead. The bell had just chimed twice, signaling the end of the day, and Courtney was making her way to her second afternoon of detention with Miss Blainley.

"Hey!" he repeated once he'd caught up to her. His dress shirtsleeves were rolled over his elbows, exposing a blue hair tie on his wrist. Courtney's nose wrinkled involuntarily; it had to be Gwen's.

"Sup?" she asked, refusing to make eye contact. She continued walking, and he followed.

Katie and Sadie appeared behind the duo. "Duncan!" Katie squealed, "We voted for you!"

Duncan pretended to look taken aback, because he knew he was the best option. "Really?" he asked happily.

Sadie chimed in. "Of course! Everyone did! You're totally gonna win."

Duncan resisted the urge to say 'Obviously I'm going to win!', and responded with a humble 'thank you'.

Once the twin girls had left, Courtney spoke up. "So what did you want again?"

"I'm still coming over today? Like now?" he questioned, thumbing the thick straps of his backpacks.

"Sorry, prep, I have detention right now!" Courtney said unashamedly.

Duncan smiled. "Of course you do. Well that's only like half an hour, right?" After a second he added cheekily, "I wouldn't know!" Courtney said nothing, so Duncan figured she must be in a bad mood. He cleared his throat and continued, "I can just wait until you're out."

Courtney froze, and she couldn't mask the panic in her eyes. "No!" she yelled. He gave her a suspicious look. Courtney fumbled for words. "What I mean is, um, I just, I have a thing later on. But you can come over after that!"

Duncan's eyes narrowed. "What kind of thing?"

"Um, ah, um, I have to, um, go shopping?" Courtney said unconvincingly.

Duncan let out a sigh. "Well, Gwen's busy today anyways, so what the heck. I'll see you tonight." Courtney attempted to smile back at him, but the falseness of it was not lost on Duncan. He frowned.

"Courtney, are you okay?" Duncan asked carefully, crossing his arms.

Courtney rolled her eyes, "I'm fine, Dunkie!"

She tried to walk away, but he stepped in front of her. His face was suddenly much closer to hers. "That's what girls say when they're not fine," he insisted, his bright eyes boring into her own.

She huffed and took a step away. "Alright, I'm upset because a type-A whacko is following me around, insinuating that I'm not okay when I'm perfectly fine!"

"Courtney..." Duncan said, a hint of warning in his voice. "Just tell me!"

She turned on him evasively. "What happened to your hand?"

Duncan looked shocked and quickly stuffed his bandaged hand into his pants pocket. "Nothing," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

Courtney nodded knowingly, but she didn't stop. "How'd you get that cut? Slicing muffins in _AP home ec?"_

"Yeah, AP home ec," Duncan echoed sarcastically, avoiding the real answer.

Courtney smirked stupidly. "Not so fun when you're the one being interrogated, is it?"

Duncan glared at her defensively. "I wasn't interrogating you!"

Courtney just shook her head and spun on her heel.

"Courtney," Duncan called, a little quieter. She looked back; he was just standing there with his shoulders turned inward and his hands buried in his pockets, looking completely unlike the confident person he usually portrayed. A painful stab of guilt hit Courtney with such an intense force, she put her hand to her chest to contain it. He gave her the fakest of all fake smiles. "Thanks for asking," he said weakly.

Courtney should've ran back to him, she should've enveloped him in a tight hug and she should've told him everything was going to be alright, because she recognized that fake, enigmatic smile and those hurt eyes; she knew what they meant.

But instead, she ran away.

...

_"Shit-!"_ Courtney cried out. Miss Blainley looked like she was about to scold Courtney for using 'such a gruesome word', so Courtney quickly tacked on, "-_itake mushrooms!_ Shiitake mushrooms!"

"Nice save," Heather giggled. The detention group was on their way out of the school after a long half hour of sweeping, mopping, and picking up reams of trash.

"I left my bag in the gym!" Courtney moaned, mashing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"I'll go get it with you," Heather offered, spitting out her retainer and sticking it in the tiny orange case she kept on her at all times.

Courtney shook her head. "No thanks. I don't need _another_ recap of exactly where Harold was standing today during the election."

Heather smiled dreamily, "He sneezed when he was standing right off the three point line."

"Bye Heather," Courtney chuckled. Everyone else had dispersed, either to the parking lot or the cafeteria to wait for a ride, so Courtney found herself walking alone through the poorly lit hallways.

Upon entering the dark gym, Courtney instantly located her purple bag, slouched on a row of pulled out bleachers. She crossed the rubbery, wood planked floor of the gym quickly; frustrated that she wouldn't have time to clean up her room before Duncan came over. Her secretive after school activity would just take up too much time. She figured if she walked faster, there might be more time in the end.

Something of a shuffling sound made Courtney pause. She looked towards the voting booth, which was still set up in the center of the lightless gym. Without any people or much light, the curtained cubicle looked like an eerie carnival game stand, discordant in the empty gym.

Another scratchy noise added to the creepy atmosphere. Courtney knew better than to Nancy Drew her way around a scary-movie-esque situation, but she figured she needed to make up for her earlier cowardice regarding Duncan.

Yeah, she ran away. And she would hide from him too, if they didn't already have plans. Where others might've seen a guy that just needed a hug, Courtney saw responsibility. And maybe she might've considered taking on that responsibility, if the bitter realization that he already had Princess Gwen to take care of him didn't stop her. He didn't want, or need Servant Girl Courtney as well.

Courtney settled a sigh and snuck over to the booth as stealthily as she could. The odd noises only increased.

Soon, she was standing in front of the dark curtain door, looking from her hovering hand to her shoes, and she was debating whether or not to fling the curtain open. Courtney tried to rationalize what she was doing by asking herself questions such as 'For what purpose would an axe murderer be in my school's gym?'

Eventually, she decided to go worse for ware, and Courtney tore open the velvet curtain.

"AHA!" Courtney screamed, not sure of who or what she was expecting. When her eyes finally zeroed in on the startled figure in the booth, Courtney's expression could have curdled milk. She leaned against the makeshift doorway of the stand and her lips curled into a lording smile.

"Hey, Gwen! Whatcha doing?"

...


End file.
